The Last of the Modern Men
by Scaleface
Summary: On a dying world, an old man has selflessly raised two generations of his family to be inquisitive, positive, patient and kind. Finding his grandkids no longer need him, now that they have their own lives, Donald forges a restorative friendship with compassionate schoolteacher Miss Hanley.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I literally only went to see Interstellar because I like John Lithgow. The same reason I saw Planet of the Apes. _

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><p>Donald parked the truck outside the school grounds, it was ten thirty and there were only a handful of kids outside, most of the children stayed inside at recess now but there were still a few who ventured out, only to walk, to stretch their legs, running and jumping were not really on the cards, those sorts of activities kicked up too much dust.<p>

His granddaughter was one of the kids walking in the yard, she waved to him and smiled as he got out of the truck, he waved back and she walked to the school gates to join him as he came through. "It'll be ok with them, right, Grandpa?" she spoke quietly as they walked to the doors of the main school building.

"They've got bigger worries than you, Murph," he told her, and he smiled down at her. She didn't follow him in, she preferred to stay outside and so Donald made his way to the school office on his own.

Her teacher had been expecting him, the school secretary showed him the way and he apologized for being late, even though it was only by a couple of minutes.

"I know why you're here, Mr Clark," she spoke rather wearily before she had even sat down, she offered him a chair and they both sat. "She's only 13, don't you think she should at least get her diploma before you take her out of school?"

"Miss Hanley," Donald spoke slowly, calmly, "What's the sense in it?" he sighed, "Murph is already smarter than I am, I'm not taking her out of school so she can help at home, we both know that."

"I know," Miss Hanley shook her head tiredly and looked down at her hands, she shrugged, "It's not that I don't think she's smart," she confessed, "to be honest," she looked up at him and smiled, "it's not even about what we can teach her, it- it's just about how much time she has left being a kid." Donald raised his eyebrows in surprise. "If she goes away on this scholarship- and I know she has a brilliant mind, but if she goes away now, that's it, that's her childhood over, at 13." Miss Hanley looked up at him, "I like to think that no matter how trivial the things we teach kids here, how boring Murph must find it, at least she has friends and- and she laughs and plays."

Donald looked at the young woman in front of him, there was definitely an air of sadness about her but her deep concern surprised him for a teacher, he hadn't remembered teachers being like that. "That- that's very considerate of you," he said softly, "and how I wish it was true, but I think that in Murph's circumstances- I mean, with her father gone and all, I think she grew up a long time ago." He spoke sadly and Miss Hanley nodded, she knew the way it was and the way Murph was, she just wished it wasn't.

"She's a very serious girl," the teacher spoke, "she has always been clever," she clarified, "but she has been so serious these last three years, I hoped there was maybe at least some kid still in her at home?" she asked hopefully.

Donald smiled, "She's still my little girl," he told her comfortingly, "no matter how serious she is, she still tells me silly things occasionally. But," he raised his eyebrows and shrugged a little, "sometimes I think she only does it because she knows I want to hear it. Which I guess is even more grown up of her."

Miss Hanley smiled sadly at the old man, "How- how's Tom getting on?" she tried, "he still happy?"

"Tom is like his mom," Donald smiled, "he's content knowing he's looking after us. He's got a girlfriend too," he grinned a little, "so he's happier still."

"That's good," she smiled, "Murph- Murph will still come home each night, won't she? If she goes to- to this place," she asked tentatively.

"On weekends. Too far to drive each day, waste of gas too. She'll be fine, I know her, she'll forget she even lived here at all," he laughed.

"I wasn't worried so much about Murph," Miss Hanley admitted.

"Uh oh," Donald stood up and looked out of the window as the light in the room faded, out in the hall a bell sounded and Miss Hanley stood up and walked to her desk to pick up the register of names. There was a large cloud approaching.

"Excuse me," the teacher spoke and she closed the shutters of her window and then walked from her office. Donald followed her into the hallway. The kids of the school were assembling in the main hall where older students closed the shutters and the children arranged themselves in neat lines to be accounted for. Teachers in the hall were ticking them off as they went through the roll call. It was all just part of their daily routine but Donald would never find the dust storms normal.

"I'm on recess duty," Miss Hanley told him as he walked with her to the front door of the school, the kids who had been outside were assembled in the foyer, Murph and seven or eight other children were there, Miss Hanley ticked them all off her list, "Where's Stephen?" she asked the children as she consulted her list, the others shrugged.

"I didn't see him," Murph spoke, "are you sure he was outside?"

"I'll go," Donald walked to the door.

"No don't," Miss Hanley spoke, "we have to check the roll call first, he might be in the hall," she had already begun to walk back the hall as she spoke, but Donald spoke to his granddaughter.

"What's this kid's name?" he asked her.

"Stephen James," she told him as he walked through the door. "Grandpa, don't!" she hissed.

"It's ok, sweetie, I'll be safe in the truck, I promise. You go inside."

Murph watched her grandfather leave the school and she sighed before following her classmates into the hall.

"Stephen James?" Miss Hanley spoke above the whispered rumblings in the hall, there was no reply, she checked with the other teachers, he had not answered his name, he was not in the hall. "Stephen James?" she asked once more, still nothing.

She walked back to the foyer, picked up the bell and pulled her coat on zipping it up as she walked out into the yard, the cloud was close but there was still time.

She rang the bell as she jogged around the yard, "Stephen?" she called his name. She jogged to the gate and noticed it was open, "shit," she swore under her breath and looked up at the sky, "Stephen?" she called louder out into the parking lot outside the school. The gates were not usually left open. Miss Hanley went through the gates and ran through the parked cars, "Stephen?" she called as she glanced between each vehicle, her voice was getting more hoarse as she got further from the school, and then suddenly it was dark, she looked up at the sky and then back at the school, the dust was falling.

"Hey!" she stood paralyzed for a moment but she looked around as Donald Clark ran to her and grabbed her. She ran with him and he opened the door of his truck and pushed her into it, he climbed in beside her and closed the door as the clattering sound of the dust hit the windscreen.

The dust was loud and dark, Donald handed her the goggles and the mask from the pocket on the back of the seat. "Shit! Shit!" she cried "Stephen!" she spoke the boy's name despairingly and didn't put on the mask or the goggles.

"That trouble maker," Donald said and she watched him in the gloom reach up through the gap in the front seats and shove. 12-year-old Stephen James looked through the gap wearing a scuba mask.

"Sorry, Miss Hanley!" he said in a muffled voice. And she looked at him in relief.

Donald put her mask over her head for her as she still hadn't done it and she looked up at him gratefully and raised her hands to her face and put the goggles on herself, then they sat in darkness and listened to the dust falling.

"Stepho," Donald said through his mask after they had sat in silence for more than a minute, "what letter of the alphabet is the wettest?"

"What?" Stephen James said in a muffled voice and he looked back at them through the gap.

"I said which letter of the alphabet is the wettest?" he said again.

Stephen James shrugged and raised his hands.

"C" Donald told him.

"What?" Stephen said incredulously.

"Come on, Stepho, I thought your dad was supposed to be a writer. C! As in _the sea_. I'll try another one." Stephen James looked blankly through his mask and the dust still landed loudly on the roof of the truck. "Johnny's mom has three kids, the first is April, the second is May. What's the name of her third kid?"

"June!" Miss Hanley said automatically.

"Wrong," said Donald.

There was a pause then Stephen said "Johnny!"

"Correct!" Donald said, "You can tell your dad that one later," he told the boy.

"I will!" he said eagerly, "do you know any more?"

"I do," Miss Hanley spoke, "I mean, I know one. What has a face, two hands but no arms or legs?"

Donald smiled beneath his mask and pretended to think on the schoolteacher's riddle, he scratched his head and repeated it slowly, "a face and two hands but no arms or legs…"

"Some kind of sea monster, I guess," Stephen pondered out loud.

"It's a bit easier than that, Stephen," she told him with a little laugh.

"I know," Donald said smugly.

"What is it?" Stephen asked still eagerly, it seemed the joy was in knowing the answer, not guessing it.

"A clock." He showed the boy his watch and pointed at it.

"That one's not as good as the three kids one," Stephen told the adults. "Hey, the cloud has passed," he noticed they were sitting in silence.

"Everyone else will be back in class," Miss Hanley said from under her mask, "maybe the next riddle I ask you should be a math question."

Stephen didn't reply to his teacher, he was not keen on her proposal, but spoke to them all as a group, "we have to stay until the dust is settled, ten minutes minimum, that's what my dad always says."

"Murph will guess you're with me," Donald told the teacher, "they'll cover for you."

"She'll be happier," she looked up at him through her goggles and finished their meeting, "I think she'll be much happier there."

"I know. I hope she comes back some times though," Donald agreed.

"I meant happier not being here, at the school, not- not away from home."

"Is Murph going away?" Stephen James invited himself into the conversation. "Is she going to be with her dad?"

"Mind your business, Stephen!" Miss Hanley scolded him, "Murph is transferring to another school, that's all," she told him, "don't poke your nose in other people's lives, you just sit there and think about how we're going to explain to your dad why you didn't come in when the bell rang!"

Donald was quiet as the teacher did her job, he wondered if his son-in-law had ever asked her out as he had suggested years ago that he should, had he merely imagined that she'd got a little flustered after the boy in the front seat had mentioned him?

Donald had known Carrie Hanley's father when they were teenagers. They'd been at the same high school and then afterwards, when most of the kids left to travel or to go to universities across the country David Hanley had stayed home, married a homebody and gone into teaching. In their youth they had mocked him for having no ambition, no drive to leave the town, but they had all come back in the end and David Hanley had been head teacher at the school where their children and their grandchildren were safe. David had died five or six years ago, about the same time Donald's daughter had died. Carrie Hanley, grown-up and teacher at the same school her dad had taught at, had been living with her folks and Donald guessed she still did.

"How's your mom?" he asked her as they sat in the back of the truck.

She looked up at him and she shrugged, "Oh- ok, I guess," she told him, "she lives with her sister, in Kansas."

"Oh, oh I'm sorry, I thought she was still living with you."

"Not since- since a couple of years back," she shrugged again, "She sends me letters, I think she's doing ok."

Donald wanted to ask her who she was living with. He didn't like the idea of a young woman being on her own these days. But he knew he couldn't ask something so personal in front of one of her students. He knew he'd never be on his own, Tom was running the farm, he would always be there even if Murph didn't come back.

Ten minutes passed quickly, Stephen told the adults about a book he was reading, Miss Hanley had suggested he do so and it would count as part of his book report, so the adults listened quietly to his retelling of a book about a bunch of animals searching for a better place to live.

Donald found it depressing and he knew the young woman beside him would be feeling that way too, but the boy was enthusiastic and did not connect the fantasy to reality. Because fantasy was all it was.

They opened the truck doors with their masks still on and closed them gently, the dust had settled and they could see the school but they kept goggles and masks on for safety. "Stephen, _walk_," Miss Hanley said firmly, "I'll be there in a moment." She watched him walking slowly, enjoying making satisfying tracks in the new layer of dirt on the ground. She looked up at Donald "I'll get the mask off him when we get in, I'll make sure they're cleaned and I'll give them to Murph so you get them back today."

"Thanks," he looked down at her, "And thanks for understanding, about Murph, I mean," he told her, "what you want for her and for all these kids is really decent, I wish we'd had teachers like you and your dad back when I was at school."

"Probably not much cause for it then," she tried, "I mean, you know, " she trailed off and didn't know how to phrase it. His generation was the last of the modern men, they had ruled the world and they could do anything.

"I know," he said. "Goodbye, Miss Hanley, I'll be here to pick up Murph this afternoon, maybe see you later."

He turned and walked to the front seat of his truck this time. "See you later," she agreed and she walked away before he got in, the dust falling in a grey cloud to the ground as he closed the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Murph," Miss Hanley had dismissed the class but she called Murph Cooper back and handed her the paper bag, "Your grandpa let us wear them, Stephen and I. I cleaned them at lunch, they're good to go back in the truck."

"Thanks, Miss," Murph said quietly as she took the bag. Murph had not spoken in class all day. She hadn't really participated in class for years, preferring to study on her own and answer only when asked questions, but Miss Hanley hadn't asked her any questions that afternoon.

"It's ok you know," Miss Hanley spoke, "it was good of your grandpa to come in but he didn't need to, I already knew you were destined for bigger things."

Murph looked up at her teacher and felt her heart beat hard in her chest, "you're not mad?" she asked in surprise, "'cause I won't finish school."

"Come off it, Murph, you finished last year, you've already done all the past papers we can find. No, I'm not mad, just a little sad that's all." Murph screwed up her face and looked at her teacher with raised eyebrows. "Sad for you, Murphy, that you won't be with the other kids any more, and- and sad that you won't be with your family so much, you're still very young," she reminded her.

"We can't all live at home forever." Murph made a throwaway remark and then swallowed and looked at her teacher, "I didn't mean," she started, but Miss Hanley raised her hand.

"It's ok, I know what you meant," she smiled softly. "Don't forget your family though, ok?" she told her a little more seriously, "they'll miss you more than you'll miss them."

"There you are, Kidder," Murph's grandfather stood in the doorframe of the classroom, "you in trouble again?" he asked, a wry joke from the old man and Murph smiled and walked to him, she hugged him, "what's this?"

"Just thanks," Murph said quietly and she looked back at her teacher, "thank you too, Miss Hanley, don't be sad for me, I'll be ok."

"Go start up the truck, Murph, I'll be there in a minute."

She nodded and left.

"I gave Murph the masks," Miss Hanley told him and she smiled up at him, "thanks for earlier, I don't think I said thanks, I was too stressed," she laughed a little, "Stephen James is taking a sternly written note home to his dad as well as your riddles."

"That's all right," he smiled and then he walked into the room a little further, "Miss Hanley," he said her name in a more serious tone, more serious even than when he had arrived that morning and they had first started speaking about Murph. She looked up and wondered what he was going to say, what else was there to say? "I know you'll think I'm a fool, but I guess, well, I've looked after my kids and my grandkids now all my life, I don't mean to pry, but, I just wanted to know, you are looked after, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked awkwardly, "financially?" she looked down at her clothes and wondered how tatty she looked to make people think she had financial difficulties.

"No, no, nothing like that, I mean, do you have a- a partner or like a roommate, someone you live with?"

He was asking in what was obviously meant to be a causal tone but she blushed and felt embarrassed all the same. "I'm ok on my own," she assured him.

"You shouldn't be on your own, not in this world," he said firmly. "I'm sorry," he shook his head, "I don't mean to be your grandfather as well." He paused and asked, "Did Cooper, did he never ask you out?" he tried.

"No," Miss Hanley answered quietly.

"I'm sorry about that," Donald sighed, "I told him he should."

There was a pause and Miss Hanley wondered what she was supposed to say to that. "Good job he didn't," she tried. "It's ok, I'm ok on my own, really," she told him again and she smiled.

"Your dad wouldn't want you on your own, Carrie," Donald told her.

"That's enough," she said firmly and she covered her mouth and looked up at him, "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I- I know you mean well, Mr Clark, but please, just stop."

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I don't- that was cheap, I'm sorry," he agreed, "I just, I thought you were still with your mom, I didn't know she'd gone, I've been thinking about it all day." He laughed, "Shows how much I've got going on in my life," he tried to make her smile but she didn't. "I'm not sexist, I honestly don't think anyone should live on their own, that's all," he finished quietly.

"I know," she said quietly, "I know, I just- I feel like I've had this conversation a hundred times. I do have friends I could move in with or –or they could move in with me, but they're all couples, everyone's a couple. I'd be a third wheel. And as for the other option," she shook her head, "I don't want to fall in love or any of that, I don't want to risk it." She looked up at him, "if I was with someone- if I got pregnant... I'd never forgive myself for bringing a child into this."

Donald didn't answer immediately, he knew he'd crossed lots of lines but he came clean as she had. She was a schoolteacher through and through, she hadn't minced around it, she'd told him the reason like it was a fact in a book and not something deeply personal at all. "I understand," he said quietly, "Tom and Murph, they're my life, but I think about Jane, their mom, and I'm glad she's gone. I'd never say that to the kids, not to Coop either. I guess you've got to have some perspective to think like that... I knew what life was supposed to be like. You're a teacher, you know it's not supposed to be this way."

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she said quietly.

He waved it away, "it's good to get angry sometimes," he told her and he smiled, she smiled too. He paused then said, "Well, I'm glad you've got lots of friends. I'd best be off now, Murph might try driving herself home, I'm not letting that happen again."

He walked back out of the classroom door and Carrie followed him, "Why'd you tell Coop to ask me out?" she called after him and Donald turned and smiled.

"You know why," he told her, "You're smart, you're kind and you're pretty, not many like you about." He turned and carried on walking until he left the school.


	3. Chapter 3

Months later, one Wednesday morning, Miss Hanley took the memos and notes from her pigeonhole in the staff room and flicked through them until she came to a letter. There was a stamp on it, which was odd; usually the kids' parents would deliver notes through their children or themselves. She opened it and read it.

_Dear Miss Hanley,_

_I thought I'd write and let you know how Murph is getting on. I know you care about the kids you teach and in this town it's not like we get away from them after they leave school but I guess Murph was always going to be different._

_You'll be pleased to know she's more alive, more excited than ever I saw her- about whatever it is that she's learning over there. Despite my worries that this would force her to grow up too fast it's kind of the total opposite, science brings out a childlike wonder in her, the only thing I can really compare it to is how magical Christmases used to be, that's what she's like when she talks about it. I can't understand head or tail of it but I'm happy she's so enthusiastic._

_Tom works hard on the farm. I know you must know that, But he's happier than ever too with his girlfriend, she's round here most of the time and if she's not then he's not either, he's at her folks' place. Murph comes back most weekends but sometimes not. _

_I'm sorry for touching on personal things when I saw you last, I think partly what was happening there was that I knew this would happen. Tom will always be here of course, but I don't want to intrude on his life. Since Coop left Murph has been my everything. You're a smart cookie; I guess you must read a lot, what else is there when you're on your own? Please send answers on a postcard; I don't know the answer to this riddle._

_Regards,_

_Donald._

Miss Hanley folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She walked to her office and sat down at her desk.

At the time it had felt like she was getting a lecture from her dad or a disappointed teacher, when Donald had questioned her about her living habits. She had known from talking to him that he would miss his granddaughter's company but hadn't really connected his lecture to his own fears. It was obvious when it was written down, the old man didn't like being on his own.

This was a world that Carrie Hanley had been born into, Donald's grandchildren had been born into it, a place where food was scarce, electricity was rationed, and dust storms obscured the sun on a daily basis. They were used to it, it was normal. But for Donald who had grown up under clear skies with technology at his fingertips, travel, endless inexhaustible food supplies, he was isolated and he was alone.

The schoolteacher picked up a piece of paper and drew out a grid, two rows of 26. She wrote the alphabet out in the top row and beneath it filled in half of the empty boxes with random letters. Under her grid she wrote 'Crack the code to discover the key to solitary living.' After her message she used her code to write out a few sentences, then she put it in an envelope, addressed it and took it to the office. The school secretary took it for her and said she'd post it that afternoon.

Miss Hanley then went back to her office and finished marking her books before the day began.


	4. Chapter 4

Donald watched his grandson leave for the day. He kept the house and he made meals and he ran errands but with Tom in charge there seemed to be less farm work for him to do, the boy was keen to do it all himself, he wanted to look after his grandpa let him retire and relax. But half the time Donald didn't know what to do with himself other than park himself on the porch with the radio, listen to the weather reports and watch for storms. He'd tried reading but he found real life too distracting, he never wanted to let his guard down, he couldn't relax.

After Tom drove away Donald took up his seat on the porch and watched as the truck approached. George the postman stepped out and Donald went to meet him as the man handed over a letter. He waved him away and looked down at it.

It wasn't from Murph so it could only be from the schoolteacher.

Donald hadn't really expected her to write back. He was a stupid old man and frankly, despite how he'd veiled his letter as an update about her former students' lives it was clearly a plea for friendship and it was inappropriate. But he'd done it because he knew she was kind and polite and so the letter in his hand would probably tell him to join a bingo club or something, and that would be the end of it.

He opened it and looked down. He was surprised and he laughed as he looked over her message and the grid and the garbled mix of capital letters that followed. He shook his head and went inside to pick up a pencil from the side before heading back out and sitting back down to start decoding his message.

After a couple of minutes he laughed to himself and spoke out loud, "how much do you want to bet, Don, that it says 'fuck off you old pervert'?" he smiled and continued to fill in the letters beneath the gobbledegook.

_SFGW SHZGES,_

_AFT K WFGS G EHC HO IHHPT._

_IMC K GETH FZBHA G SWKZP._

_JWKCF UF IGYP._

_(KC SHFTZ'C LGMF CH IF KZ YHSF.)_

_YGWWKF._

_Dear Donald,_

_Yes I read a lot of books._

_But I also enjoy a drink._

_Write me back._

_(It doesn't have to be in code.)_

_Carrie._

It took him a half hour. It had been a long time since he'd done a crossword or a Sudoku, it made him want to go into town and see if he could find a book of them, it was satisfying using his brain again, it seemed like he hadn't used it for a long time.

He wondered what he could say to her in his reply other than thanks for making him actually think about something.

He looked down at his old hands holding the pencil and the paper, he was nearly seventy, was he really going to carry on flirting with a woman half his age? Part of his brain argued 'well, what else is there to do?' and he was tempted to listen to it, after all there would be no misunderstandings, no broken hearts. Even if she had been looking for love Donald wasn't deluded enough to think she'd be interested in him, and he wasn't looking either, not for love, not even for companionship, just for a friend.


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Carrie,_

_Thank you for the brain exercise, I think it woke up cells that the rest of my body presumed had died long ago… I knew you'd be a reader. What are you reading at the moment? Is that a stupid question? I don't want a book report or anything, just give me it in a paragraph. That's about as much reading as I can do these days without getting distracted. I say 'these days' but really I mean the last forty years, since then I just haven't really let myself escape._

_Though I will admit, I'm no stranger to the odd drink myself, but it isn't much fun without Coop here to join me. I guess I haven't drunk much since he left, I don't really want to encourage Tom to do it, he's still a kid, he's better off without. Yep, our place is party central._

_Well, it seems without Murph and without Tom letting me work on the farm (I lie, he lets me cook and clean for him and his date) my life doesn't really lend itself to interesting reading, I apologise for such a dull letter. Especially when yours was so entertaining. Maybe I could try another riddle._

_'__Brothers and sisters I have none but this man's father is my father's son. _

_Who is he?'_

_Looks pretty simple doesn't it. But I still have to draw out a family tree every time I tell it. A memorable rhyme but not a memorable answer. If you guess right you get an A on your book report. _

_Donald._


	6. Chapter 6

_Donald,_

_In answer to your riddle, he is your son. (Thanks for the tip about drawing the family tree.)_

_The book I'm reading at the moment is a comic book in which an elephant born with extraordinarily large ears learns to fly. Is this still an A?_

_I'm glad you enjoyed the code breaking exercise, it's one I do with the kids after a week of something particularly boring. I don't usually write codes about my drinking habits for them though._

_Is Tom's steady Lois Dixon? I heard those two are pretty serious, that's good, she's a really good girl. Dedicated and focused, but romantic too, it'll be good for Tom to do a bit of dreaming. I know he's a good worker, but I think there's got to be some fantasy in everyone's life. You know, like imagining a cartoon elephant could fly._

_Now a stupid question from me: Did you ever see an elephant, Donald? I'm not going to ask 'could they fly?' I'm not a moron. I just wanted to know what was it like? Not just elephants. Everything. My mom and dad were good teachers, they cared about their students, but they weren't nostalgic, they taught Math and English and fact… I think they thought that if I didn't know what things had been like before, then I wouldn't be upset that there was so much I'd never see. Did you travel, Donald? Where did you go?_

_Please tell me._

_Carrie._


	7. Chapter 7

Carrie took the parcel to her office and closed the door. She rarely closed her door but it was early, no one would need her. The parcel was from Donald and he must have delivered it to the school himself, the postal service didn't deliver parcels cheap and not even her mom, who she never saw any more, sent parcels, it was very exciting to have something to unwrap. She cut the string and unwrapped the brown paper carefully to find a thick leather notebook inside.

The book's pages were full of photographs, picture cards, ticket stubs and drawings, the book was colourful and beautiful and it was full of words. Carrie flicked through the pages not knowing where to start, it was too much, she closed it and put it down on her desk. There was a note in the remains of the brown paper packaging, she unfolded it and read it.

_'__Dear Carrie, I kept this diary when I was 21 so forgive any pretentious thought that might be scrawled on these pages. I spent the year between my undergrad and my masters interailing through Europe. (You paid a set price and could travel on all the railroads over there) I managed to get to India too, so yes, I did see an elephant or two. In the diary I checked and the idiot boy who wrote it describes the elephants as "truly majestic beings that instead of frightening with their size, radiate a calm serenity that a hundred hours of yoga wouldn't touch on." Jeez-oh, I don't know where I thought I'd get with a degree in Arts and Humanities, no wonder your dad thought I was a fool… Anyway, give it a read, I don't know if it's a step up or a step down from your comic book, you be the judge.'_

Carrie sat down and opened his diary, before reading his note she had flicked through the pages and not really taken in the photographs. Lots of them were of him; tall and thin with a head full of thick sandy hair, she hadn't connected it. Even her earliest memories of Donald's family, from sitting in her dad's office after school was over and looking out of the window, seeing him pick his daughter up when he must have been touching forty Donald had looked the same as he did now, as though he'd been fifty his entire life. It seemed there had been a time when he was young.

Carrie looked through the book slower this time, leaning over its crisp pages she looked at every photo, every postcard and every drawing. She still didn't read the words, she would do that at home that evening when she didn't have lessons to plan and children to look after, but she couldn't help wanting to see all his memories, things she'd never seen, things that didn't exist any more.

The buildings of Europe were captivating, she'd seen pictures before but seeing them with Donald and his friends standing, sitting, lounging at the steps of great palaces, cathedrals and thousand year old ruins, seeing someone she knew smiling, posing, eating ice cream… It made her cry.

Carrie felt the tears fall from her eyes before she felt the emotions pull at her brain and her heart. She wondered if her parents had been right to keep her from their memories of a better world, the kids in her class were certainly happier in ignorance. No one asked why things were the way they were because no one had any concept of the dead world in Donald's scrapbook. But she did not feel sad because she didn't have that world, she felt sad that no one had that world but that wasn't what was upsetting her. She felt sad for Donald that he wasn't like the rest of them, he wasn't blissfully ignorant, but she also felt happy, she was glad to know him, he didn't have a bad attitude, he had an unbelievably good attitude.

She knew the reason her parents didn't talk about the world as it had been was because it depressed and scared them that their world was dying. But Donald had had no problem in giving her his memories when she had asked and his note had been good-humored as always. She knew he was not comfortable being on his own, but he was definitely not a sad man, he wasn't afraid either, just concerned for his family and now for some reason, she supposed because she'd been the first person he'd spoken to, now he was concerned for her too. Perhaps it was just the only way he knew to escape from letting himself become frightened.


	8. Chapter 8

Donald had not been completely surprised when Carrie Hanley drove up to the farm three days after he had delivered his parcel to the school. He knew she would return it, she was a good person, she had to be, they way she cared for the kids in her school. It was Friday evening, Tom was at Lois' parents' place for dinner and Donald was spending the last hours of daylight the way he spent most daylight hours, sat on the porch looking out at the crops and keeping his eye on the horizon.

Carrie drove up at twenty past six, she wore jeans and a dark red checked flannel shirt, he'd only seen her in her work suits before, he smiled at her in surprise only for her outfit, not to see her there.

"Hi," she said as she got out of her truck, she held his parcel, still wrapped in string and paper and she walked to the porch.

"Miss Hanley," he said her name and he smiled at her as he stood and looked down at her on his driveway.

She looked up at him and smiled back, she blushed, "Donald, I- I wondered if maybe," she shrugged a little, "do you have any beer?" she finished.

He looked down at her, "Two beers coming up," he said and he walked into the house, holding the door for her and waiting expectantly for her to follow, she did and she smiled in relief.

She came into his house and stood by the door still holding the parcel, she watched him walk to a cupboard and take out a couple of bottles. "Thank you so much," she said quietly, "for sending me this," she held it still tightly, "I know this sounds stupid but- but it really was the most wonderful thing I ever read."

He looked at her and raised his eyebrows as he handed her the beer, "Maybe you're not as widely read as I imagined," he quipped.

She smiled and laughed a breath of laughter as she looked up at him. "maybe," she agreed and she took a sip from the bottle.

"Come on, we'll sit outside," he told her and she followed him and they sat on the dusty cushioned two-seater by the door. "I'm glad you liked it. Murph always liked it too, my Jane not so much, her mom didn't like it either. Same reasons your folks had I suppose."

"My folks were born here, they grew up here, got married her. My dad died here," she finished. "All the photos they had of this time," she stressed patting the parcel in her lap, "you look at them and they could have been taken today." She shook her head, "They missed it. No wonder they never talked about it," she looked up at him and smiled, "no wonder my dad didn't like you." He cracked a smile while he looked out at the sky.

"It's not their fault, some folk just didn't like to travel."

"I know. I just find it so difficult to comprehend. You know, that this was out there and they weren't even interested."

"It was on tv, in movies, online, you could travel from your living-room, that's what it was all about, so if people couldn't afford it or if people were kind of like homebodies, scared to travel or whatever, they could still experience it. I'm sure your folks experienced a lot, Carrie, don't be too sad for them." Carrie nodded and drank her beer. "And don't be angry with them either." He told her in a different voice and she blushed and didn't look at him, "No point in that."

"I know, I know," she said quietly. "Just angry at the world," she said into her bottle then she looked up at him and quickly shook her head, "This- this didn't make me angry Donald," she assured him, "Really," she promised, "I loved it, I loved every page."

"Ok, ok," he drank his own beer and didn't look down at her.

"I'm serious," she stressed and she turned in her seat and looked up at him, she unwrapped the parcel and opened the book, she flipped through the thick pages and paused on the pictures of him and his friends in gondolas in Venice, she smiled down at it. "that's you," she stressed and she looked up at him.

"I know," he told her.

"Don't you know how happy it makes me to see these pictures?"

"Well, I'm kind of getting an idea," he admitted in a slightly worried tone, "can't really say I know why though."

"You did such things and you kept this book, took photos, kept tickets and postcards and wrote it all down. Even in a throwaway culture you kept every memory as it happened and you knew it was special. You didn't know this was going to happen." She raised her beer and pointed out to the fields and the greying skies, "You raised kids and grandkids to be just as positive and interested in things as the boy who wrote this book, even after all you'd seen disappeared… Coop was smart but he was angry. Murph's the way she is because of you, Donald."

Donald looked down at his beer then he smiled sadly at her, "You can't get mad with kids," he said softly, "you can't let them know that things aren't right. Janey's mom, she- she thought I was wrong to act that way, said I was protecting her too much from the real world, you know, pretending everything's fine. But this is the way things are," he said finitely, "so relatively," he shrugged, "things _are _fine. Like your folks with you, encouraging you, looking after you, and making you feel secure. That's all I really wanted for them, to make them feel secure."

"You're too modest," Carrie told him.

"I have lots of memories," he looked out at the fields again. "Memories in that book, of school, university, holidays. But lots more memories of Janey, of Tom and Murph, the memories in that book aren't better just because the colours are brighter. The food was better," he admitted and he took a swig from the bottle, "but I don't look at that book and think 'this is what my life should have been like', that's ridiculous!" He smiled, "My life was always going to be who I spent it with."

"Your attitude to life," she told him quietly, "I admire it."

"Thanks," he told her with a short smile, "So which of my friends took your fancy then?" he asked suddenly changing the subject and she laughed, he laughed too. "Charlie was such a ladies man," he poked the page.

"I know," she smiled, "I can't believe the amount of girls he got through," she grinned. "I'd be interested to see_ his_ scrapbook." Donald laughed. "I liked your paintings," she told him quietly, "and all your little drawing and doodles," she smiled, "they really add to the stories."

He smiled, "Murph used to make me draw things for her. Animals she read about, so she'd know what they looked like. I was like an encyclopedia to her when she was small, I quite liked that, I guess that's why I sent you the book, let you see for yourself rather than have some old buffer write his old memories down, like getting a letter from Grandfather Time."

"Is Murph not coming home this weekend?"

"No," he answered softly, "she'll come back next weekend though, got a letter this morning."

"She loves it. Like you loved this," she tapped the book.

"I guess you're right," he laughed a little. "Course you are."

They were quiet for a moment and they drank their beers and watched the sky get darker as the sun dropped further. "Friday night, Carrie, do you really have nothing better to do than sit here?" he said lightly.

"I guess not," she sighed and smiled. "My friends, I told you, didn't I? They're all couples, they've got each other. I thought it might work, you and me being friends, if you want," she tried.

"That's real sweet of you," he smiled down at her, "but if you get a better offer, I won't be offended."

"I like you,' she told him and she blushed and shook her head. "Not 'cause you make me feel secure or whatever else it is… You're smart, Donald, that's pretty rare round here," she smiled.

"Thanks, Miss Hanley. You're smart too, I guess that's why I like you." He looked out at the fields, "that's why all the boys like you."

"All the boys do _not_ like me," she grinned, "I'm past it now, Donald. Forty in September."

"Forty, eh?" he smiled to himself, "practically Methusulah. Oh," he got to his feet, "Come on, time to go inside," he pointed at the cloud and she stood up and walked through the door he held open for her.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: EXPLICIT CONTENT WARNING. If you read Alexandre Dumas you can tell he was a chef, he goes into a lot of detail whenever anyone cooks or eats anything. In this chapter it becomes clear I'm a sex addict._

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><p>Carrie set the book down on the kitchen table with her beer and she carefully wrapped it once more in brown paper before looking up at him, he brought the red cushions in that they'd been sitting on and after closing the doors he pushed them against the bottom of the door on the floor. Carrie watched him close the kitchen shutters, she looked through to the windows in his lounge but they were already done.<p>

"Can I do anything?" she asked.

"You just sit down somewhere, it's all done," he smiled at her. "I'm just going to go upstairs, double check Tom kept his window shut before he went out tonight."

"You could give me the tour as we double check?" she offered.

"If you want," he shrugged and she followed him, leaving their beers and his book on the kitchen table.

Carrie followed him upstairs, he went to Tom's room and checked the window, "it's fine," he told her and she followed him in, in the gloom she looked at Tom Cooper's bedroom."

"It used to be Coop's," Donald told her, "Tom's the man of the house now though, so, you know, he gets the big bed." She laughed a little. "Murph's over here," he showed her to his granddaughter's room, it was as she'd expected, full of books. They moved into the hall, "bathroom," he pointed, "spare room, well, it's still got all of Tom's stuff in it, he's just spreading it around. I'm at the end there, you saw the kitchen and the lounge downstairs. I guess we can't really do the barn right now." He trailed off.

"Can I see your room?" she asked.

"Knock yourself out," he led her to his door and opened it, she walked in and looked up at the book shelves, not as many as in Murph's room and not nearly so many with titles on the spines. She walked to the shelves and looked at the coloured blocks with interest,"

"What are they?" she asked and she pulled one out slowly, he watched her in silence, letting her look. They were photograph albums.

She looked up at him and smiled in sweet surprise. The house shook very slightly as the cloud hit it and Donald watched the dust lift from the floor and the walls. "Oh," he said and he shook his head, he opened a drawer in the cabinet by his door and handed her the facemask. "Just to be safe," he told her and she took it and put it on covering her nose and mouth. He left her in the room for a moment to retrieve a second mask and Carrie sat on his bed and looked through the album. Pictures of his relatives from way back, probably from before he was born, he had centuries of photographs shelved neatly.

"I guess it's pretty tragic, huh?" he returned with his own mask on and he sat down on the stool by the dresser and looked at her turning the pages. "Me living in here with all my memories."

"It's nice," she told him quietly but she didn't look up from the photographs.

"Which ones are you looking at?" he asked and she held it up for him to see. "That's my mother's family," he told her, "they came from England originally, Britain I mean, you know, Europe."

"Are these pictures of England?" she asked with interest.

"Some of them, yeah," he moved and sat down on the bed too, "this one," he pointed out, "all these," he turned the pages, "Every single town in Britain looked like that," he told her, "never more than three storeys to a building, isn't that funny for such a small place?"

Carrie closed the album, stood up and put it in its place, she sat back down and looked up at him sitting next to her, behind her, on the opposite side of his bed. "Donald," she said his name quietly, "You know I just want us to be friends, but, I mean," she looked down at her hands, he looked down at her hands too, "this is so stupid," she shook her head and spoke quietly to herself.

"I'm sure it isn't," he assured her.

She looked up at him and smiled, her eyes crinkled in the corners though he couldn't see her mouth beneath the white mask, "I don't want any romance," she stressed, "I don't need that, but, but it would be nice for- for some affection, can I- can I hug you?" she asked anxiously.

"Of course you can, Sweetheart," he told her kindly. And with his permission she moved towards him on his bed and put her arms around him, he held her gently, a little awkwardly across the bed. "Come on," he let go of her "this won't do," he held her hand but stood up and walked around the bed to sit next to her, she put her arms around him again and he held her more comfortably by his side.

She was silent in his arms and she kept her eyes closed. "You've got to have contact," he told her gently, reassuringly, "the way you care for those kids, I'm sorry you're not allowed to hug them, that always seemed such a stupid rule if you ask me, I bet lots of them could do with a hug from you."

"Thanks, Donald," she said quietly, muffled through her mask and against his shoulder. "I wasn't sure," she let go a little but reached for his hands, he let her hold them, "I wasn't sure if you'd get it, if you'd let me."

"I get it," he said gently. "I really am sorry your mom left," he said quietly.

"I reminded her too much of him," Carrie said quietly, "it upset her."

"Some people are like that," he shrugged, "it's a real shame they are, especially if it means leaving someone on their own, someone who I guess hasn't been on their own before?" he tried.

She shook her head, "I was an Only Child," she admitted and she let go of his hands and put her own hands back in her lap, "so even though I've always lived there with them, I guess I was on my own a lot. So I am used to keeping my own company in that house, but- but it's been a long time since I had anyone- had anyone touch me, be affectionate to me," she said quietly and she looked down at the floor, "I didn't want to get a boyfriend just so I could be close to someone who I didn't really like. That seems to be what people do, anything rather than be on their own."

"I can understand why people do it," he admitted, "but if you don't like them to begin with, that is pretty bad."

"I think it's stopped. Outside," she said quietly, "nothing's moving anymore," she took off her mask and looked at the air in the room, the dust had settled once more. "Sometimes I feel like I spend all the time I'm not at school dusting the house," she smiled and looked up at him as he too removed his mask.

"That' because you do, no doubt," he smiled back, "it's what I'm in charge off here. It's the one thing Tom gladly lets me do."

"You cook too though, right?"

"Oh hell, where are my manners?" he closed his eyes, "are you hungry, Carrie? I never thought. It's dinnertime isn't it? Only I never made anything today because I knew Tom was going to the Dixons'."

"I'm ok," she smiled, "I ate at home, I always eat early, you know, 'cause of school."

"You sure?" he double checked.

"I'm sure," she smiled. There was a pause, "Lois Dixon's little brother told me Tom was going to theirs tonight," she admitted, "so I knew this would be an ok time to come. I should have written and asked, but, it seemed like a safe bet."

"You're always welcome, Carrie," he told her, "Tom and Lois- and Murph if she was here, they'd all be happy to see you."

"And you?"

"Of course, me," he shook his head and smiled, "of course me."

"Can I," she reached for his hand on the bed between them, "Can I stay the night?" she asked.

"Course you can," he held her hand, "Take your pick, Carrie, the spare room's full of Tom's old stuff or there's Murph's- full of her old stuff."

"I meant stay the night with you," she said quietly.

He moved his other hand to hers and patted it, held it gently, he frowned down at it, "Carrie, don't be silly," he said softly. "I know you're lonely, we both are, but look at you," he looked up at her, she looked back at him seriously, "you beautiful girl," he said sadly, "why'd you want to spend the night with an old wreck?"

"I told you, Donald," she said quietly, "I don't want romance, I don't want a boyfriend, just- just affection." She smiled a little, "I like you, I liked the boy who wrote that book and the man who wrote those letters, I- I thought we might both be grown up enough to know what friends sometimes need. And to be honest," she whispered, "I just don't think anyone else would understand."

"Ok sweetheart," he said softly, "but listen," he told her as she smiled gratefully at him, "I respect you, I won't romance you or pressure you or anything like that, hell, I'm too old for all that crap anyway, but I can't promise not to love you, ok?"

"Silly old thing," she whispered and she smiled and let go of his hands, moved closer, a little breathlessly she moved her face to his and she kissed him gently. Donald put his hands gently on her face and kissed back. She broke away and looked up at him as he held her face in his hands, he smiled at her, she smiled up at him and laughed a little, her face flushed a pleasing pink.

"You want another beer?" he asked her as he let go of her face, she shook her head. "Did you really come here for this?" he smiled in amusement and she nodded, "modern women," he shook his own head and she breathed and laughed.

"Come here," she told him and she moved back on his bed and sat up against the bedhead, she leant down and unbuckled her boots, bent and put them on the floor.

Donald stood up and walked to the door, he shut it and then sat down on the bed next to her, "I'll be honest with you, Carrie," he said gently as she put her arms around him, "things may not go exactly as you planned. I don't know how many men in their sixties, fuck, I mean, seventies," he swore, "sorry," he looked up at her, "well, _exactly_… How many old men you've slept with. But I can't make any promises."

"I just want to be here with you," she assured him. "Cuddles are nice," she smiled and she held him and they lay down on the bed together. Carrie held him down on top of her and sighed at his cheek at the feeling of being so close and up against another person, she felt him put his arms around her and she shivered and closed her eyes as he kissed her neck softly.

Donald felt how serious she was as her fingers dug into him, her leg wrapped itself around him and her arms held him down on top of her, he looked up from her neck down at her flushed face, he kissed her mouth gently and she kissed deeply back and her hands and her fingers pushed themselves through his hair and down over his shoulders.

Carrie moved her hands to her shirt, she unbuttoned it and Donald pulled his own clothes off, she smiled and giggled and he smiled too. She pushed her trousers and socks off, pulling off her soft shirt and her sports bra. Donald kicked off his shoes and pushed his trousers off, he lay naked on his bed, up against the almost naked schoolteacher.

"What's all this then?" he asked her, looking down at her underwear and he smiled as she smiled up at him and breathed heavily against his face, she put her arms around him once more and kissed him gently, softly, small kisses at his mouth. He touched her body gently, ran his hands down her soft skin, over her chest. He held a breast firmly as they kissed, his fingers played, tweaked at her sensitive skin, her breath shuddered at his face as they kissed. Donald pushed his hand further down her body, over her soft pale legs and the soft fair hairs, he gripped and stroked the skin as she held onto him and pressed herself against him.

Donald pushed his fingers against the thin grey cotton, he rubbed gently between her legs, firmly covered her with his large hand and massaged gently at the cotton and the tight muscles of her inside thighs, her body relaxed and tightened at his touch as he pressed and rubbed her through her underwear. Her breath shuddered and shivered as it left her body.

"Thank you," she whispered, he kissed her cheek and she stroked her hand over his stubbly face, over his strong arms and back. She pushed her hand between them and she touched him, felt him pressing against her leg, she stroked him firmly in her palm as he stroked her beneath his.

Donald pushed his hand over her small stomach firmly, pushed fingers beneath the elastic band of her knickers and touched the hot secret place, pushed his fingers through the curly hairs to the soft wet silky skin he sighed at her face and she shivered and smiled and kissed him gratefully. He rubbed and tickled her gently, she was very ready for him, he suddenly felt it too.

"Carrie, will you go on top," he asked her gently and she nodded and moved her hands away from him, she pushed her knickers off and they moved on the bed. She climbed on top of him and looked down at his face, smiled at him as she reached between them and pushed down on him, she sighed a little loudly at the relief she suddenly felt just from being with him, Donald put his strong hands on her and she leant down to kiss him, she kept her body and her face close as he moved her hips and she made love to him.

Donald was fit and strong for his age but it had been a long time since he had been so needed by a woman, he stroked and held her body firmly as she moved up and down on him and he felt harder than he could remember feeling as the beautiful and desperate creature squeezed and rubbed her soft body on top of him, but he knew he did not have the staying power he'd once had.

He moved her, pulled her up off him and she moved, sat up away from him as he came. Carrie moved off him, but moved her hand to him and gently squeezed and jerked as he gasped and closed his eyes, she lay down next to him.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he whispered, she shook her head.

"Don't be," she whispered back, "it was nice."

He pushed her hand away, "here," he whispered breathlessly, "let me," he moved down on the bed and moved his head to her legs and kissed her, pushed his large hands against her, pushed fingers into her and kissed and ran his tongue around the soft silky skin as his fingers played gently inside her.

Carrie sighed heavily and her legs rode up against his face as he kissed and teased her skin, she reached and touched his face with her long fingers, stroked them through his hair around his ear affectionately. Donald stroked his hand over her hip and her pale white stomach, held her to his face as he kissed her deeply and moved his fingers gently. Carrie watched his large hand and his strong forearm on her pale body and she stroked the dark hairs on the freckled skin, she had wanted to be held by those arms, to be crushed by the tall and impressive old man, to feel insignificant, to feel secure as he had always kept those close to him secure. But being held and being near him had not been enough and she was glad she had asked him to sleep with her.

There were things he was doing with his mouth that she had not experienced before, she'd known that he might not have been able to do anything and she had been prepared to be satisfied with hugs but he clearly wanted to please her and he was doing.

Carrie knew that his generation was the last of the sexually enlightened. When general publishing had ceased and the internet failed people had other things to think about and then people were too preoccupied to talk about it, to teach the right and wrong ways to do things, the men she'd been with had known how to have sex but they had not had much technique. The man who held and squeezed her with his face between her legs had already satisfied himself and yet he continued to pleasure her body.

Her body shuddered and moved against his lips, her thighs squeezed at his face and he felt her muscles contract around his fingers, she sighed and made small pained noises. He kissed and massaged her still, holding her body tightly as she gasped and came then he let go of her, released her slowly as she pushed his arm away. Donald sat up on his bed and looked down over her flushed face and neck, she shook and she breathed harshly but she smiled up at him.

"Do you feel better?" he asked her quietly and she nodded and reached for him, he lay down next to her and put his arms around her, held her pale cooling, shivering skin to his side, her face was hot as she pressed it to his shoulder then moved it up to his face. She kissed his lips lightly and touched his cheek with her cold fingertips, stroked her fingers over an eyebrow and down his nose, she smiled at him.

He smiled back, "Thanks for making it easy for me," he told her quietly, "it's been a long time."

"I- I didn't really feel I did that much," she admitted breathlessly and she laughed a little nervously as he laughed too.

He held her and rubbed her arm gently as she began to shiver as she smiled up at him. "This is a much more interesting night than I had planned," he told her calmly and a breath of a laugh left her nose as she still looked at him silently, "eight pm and I'm still awake, there's a turn up for the books."

"it's rare for me too," she whispered and smiled, "Friday night is my sleep the week away night, wake up at nine on Saturday and enjoy reading in my bed rather than getting up and going to school. I'm quite a boring person really," she hugged him tightly as her body got colder.

"Carrie you're cooling down like an ice cube," he rubbed her back as she shivered.

"Things were much hotter a minute ago," she whispered, "thank you. That's the first time anyone's done that to me properly."

His hands slowed and he looked down at her, he felt sad for her but he smiled anyway, she had enjoyed herself and she was happy, that's what was important.

"We should get our clothes back on," he told her, "it's not really bed time yet, come on, I haven't eaten even if you have, let's have another beer."

She nodded and he let go of her, Carrie sat up and found her clothes. She put them back on and felt warm once more in her flannel shirt. She looked at her reflection in the mirror on his dresser. Her thick blonde hair had been in a neat little braid that tickled the back of her neck, little of it remained, her hair was towseled and sticking out of the elastic band, she pulled it off and put it round her wrist, combing her hair with her fingers she straightened it as best she could and let it hang loose just past her shoulders.

"I always look disheveled," he told her as he tied his shoes, "any attempt to smarten this up would be futile." She smiled at him in the mirror and turned and looked at him. "You're really striking, Carrie," he told her, "your eyes are something else. Sorry. I promise that wasn't romance. Just fact." He stood up and looked down at her, "let's go talk about elephants or something."


	10. Chapter 10

Donald got himself something from the fridge and put the stove on. He'd been quiet as they'd got dressed, quiet as he watched the towseled blonde mane being tamed by the pretty schoolteacher sat at his dressing table. He'd felt regret for his young friend. Because she wasn't that young and yet no lover had given her what he considered the most basic going over. She was clearly a sexual person, she had come to his house with the express intent in bedding him, she was not shy, and yet the things she had experienced with him, an old hack of seventy, had apparently been more satisfying than the rest of her experiences.

He knew it was probably a one off. She might want to hug him or hold his hand in the future, they would be friends, he didn't doubt that but he did not think they would make love again. That was out of her system. And yet he told himself that if she did ask again he would do things for her that she deserved. The kind, intelligent and caring girl would get the release that she deserved, he would make sure of it.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him, her warm beer in her hand.

"Bacon," he told her and he looked down at her as she joined him at the frying pan, "eggs and milk." She grinned at him.

"You're a dreamer, Donald," she told him quietly and she finished her drink.

"Nothing wrong with that," he looked back down at the corn pancakes he was flipping, "get us a couple more beers out of that cupboard," he told her and he nodded towards the one he meant, Carrie opened the doors and found the beer. "bottle opener's on the side there," he pointed with his fork and she opened them and set them down on the table. "So what d'you want to talk about?" he asked her as he sat down with the plate of pancakes and put two sets of forks and knives down should she wish to join him. "Read any good comic books lately? How's Superman doing these days? If outside is anything to go by I'd say the last son of Krypton met his maker a while back."

"I don't really like superheroes," she told him as she sat down and folded her arms, "I read nice comic books, about talking cats and dogs, things like that."

"How highbrow," he raised an eyebrow and smiled at her, she smiled back.

"Tell me about school, Donald, what was a typical school day for you?"

"School?" he said in surprise, "That's going back a bit."

"I want to hear," she told him, "it's not fantasy, it's not a talking cat or a talking dog, it's not a story when it actually happened," she leant back in her chair, "I want to know what it was like."

"All right then," he raised his eyebrows. "Typical school day? That's what you want to hear? He checked, looking at her, she smiled and nodded. "Picture this; I'm fourteen years old, this is high school. I've had breakfast with my dad, my little brother already went to school earlier, my mom usually gets back from walking him there about the same time I'm about to leave, he starts at eight but finishes at three. High school is different, we start at nine and are out at four."

"What was breakfast?" Carrie asked quietly and he smiled at her.

"Believe it or not breakfast is cornflakes." He grinned, "there was a time when I voluntarily- worse than that, I actually_ liked_ cornflakes!" he smiled and shook his head, "Michael, my little brother, he probably had chocolate cereal, some candy or cookie thinly veiled as cereal but clearly just ridiculously bad for you. He loved all that stuff." Donald smiled. "I'm fourteen so mom doesn't walk me to school, wow, that is social suicide if your parents walk you or drop you off, no, I ride my bike to school. It's a twenty minute ride through leafy suburbs, good in the summer, green leaves and gardens, blue skies. I get the bus in winter and I sit just past the middle, the back is where the trouble-makers sit but the front is where the suck ups sit, so you don't want to be lumped in with them."

"Does it snow in winter?"

He laughed, "Of course, big white snow drifts, blizzards, snowmen, Christmas lights, the works. But autumn is the best season, the colours are intense; red, orange, gold, the trees on the ride to school are bright and crisp. Ok though, I get to school just before nine, see my friends at our lockers, someone's downloaded a dirty video or maybe something funny, some stupid song that we all get obsessed with until the next day when someone's found something better. No cell phones in class so it's important to watch before hand, you don't want to be out of the loop. What class do you want to hear about, Carrie? Math, English, History, Science? I can't see they'd be that different."

"What did you learn in science?"

"Ok, you're right maybe that one was a little different, only 'cause of the resources though, most lessons were still just boring theory. But the science labs were exciting. When you first go to high school and there's a room in there that you go to three times a week where there's fire and chemicals and you have to wear a white coat and goggles, that's pretty exciting. Unless you're an arty kid and you just can't grasp any of it and even though you might be bigger than the other kids in your class there's still a fear that someone's going to drop a pipette of acid on you for a laugh. That never happened," he told her, "but I did always worry. Recess is at ten to eleven, half an hour where if you're under twelve you run around on the grass and play baseball with your friends as quickly as possible, trying to cram in a whole game. Or if you're fifteen or sixteen you're in the computer labs watching stupid videos or playing games with your friends without looking at them even though they're sat right next to you. But if you're fourteen, Carrie, that's the age, the age when you hang around outside. Hang near the lockers waiting for Stephanie Richardson and her friends to walk by, because Stephanie is the prettiest girl in your class and even though absolutely everyone wants to go out with her maybe she'll like you because you're good at drawing and you're on the swim team. She's not interested by the way. She only likes guys on the football team and ones that are at least two years older than her, she's not interested in tall, skinny swimmers.

"After recess it's ok though, because you walk to the art room where you're safe, you're more than safe, you're popular. I loved art class, I guess I was good at lots of things but I knew I was the best at art. The art teacher is kind of weird, she wears black all the time, wears scary makeup and drives a little navy sports car, lots of the kids don't like her, she grades their work low because their work isn't very good but they can't see that, their moms and dads have always stuck their drawings up on the fridge door. I can see it but I don't say anything, I'm glad the teacher likes me but I don't make a song and dance about it. We paint abstract landscapes, we're doing a project on modernism, some of the kids sculpt things out of clay, mine always explode in the kiln so I stick to painting and drawing. By the time we're fifteen you decide what your project is in art and you concentrate on it all year, there's a show and the parents come and drink wine while the kids have to stand about soberly taking their work too seriously.

"In the summer we eat our packed lunches outside on the grass and the picnic tables, in the winter we stick to the canteen, hot food like pizza and hamburgers are always accompanied by a regulation salad that lacks dressing or imagination but there are too many fat kids so they have to eat it. My mom makes my lunch for me, she's always made them for Michael and me, on our birthdays there are little notes and toys in there and even on regular days other kids are jealous of our lunches. Mom was very creative, no one else had a juice bottle with a hand drawn skull and crossbones on it labeling it poison. That was pretty good until I got to about twelve and it suddenly became embarrassing... Kids are such idiots, all that stuff my mom did was so exciting. That's why I did it for Janey and Tom and Murph, I think they found it embarrassing too.

"So it's Thursday which means before lunch there's swimming practice. We get sports lessons twice a week anyway, football, basketball, sprinting, athletics, all that, but if you're in a sports team you have to do extra practice. I was a swimmer. Our school had a small-ish pool, tiny compared to the one at university, we didn't do that great in state championships- you know, all the kids competing against other schools. But I was the best they had, being tall probably had something to do with it, I was never any good at football and I reckon I was too uncoordinated for basketball but sprinting and swimming I was good at. Swimming got me stronger than the other kids too I suppose, there are not many sports out there that work on all of you. I enjoyed it because I was good at it but I wasn't a football hero, that's what girls like.

"After swimming and after lunch there's history or geography, Spanish or a good old soul destroying heap of math. We were never supposed to get more than three pieces of homework a night but it was like the teachers never spoke to each other so we'd always get some from each and every class we took. I ride home on my bike and watch tv with Michael, he'd always be in front of the set when I got home and I kind of secretly enjoyed still watching all the shows and cartoons that I'd watched when I was younger. Mom made dinner for half six and I was always starving- oh, we'd usually have a snack when we got home, chips or milk and cookies or something, and dinner was where we all sat together and listened to each others' days. After dinner I'd usually spend a couple of hours on homework and then get to watch an hour of tv with my parents and then go to bed."

He looked at the silent schoolteacher, her face was still a little flushed and she drank her beer quietly while listening to him. "It's not that different, 'cept you teach all the subjects, and the kids are different ages. At least homework is fair now."

"I've never been swimming," she said quietly, "it's like flying isn't it? That's what I've read. Like floating."

"Like floating in a bathtub," he smiled.

"We- we never, we don't have one. I mean, we just have a shower."

Donald raised his eyebrows in surprise and he put his fork down. "When's your birthday, Carrie?"

"September," she said quietly.

"Ok, I'm going to save our water allowance in September, you're having a bath."

"Don't be silly," she smiled in embarrassment.

"Me and Tom are men, we can do without showers for a few days... And I'll get you a clothes-peg and you can wear it on your nose so the stink doesn't ruin your birthday present."

"You didn't tell me what was in your packed lunch," she said, changing the subject.

"a sandwich, a pack of chips, yoghurt," he shrugged and thought hard, "An apple I guess, oh and they had these weird snack pieces of cheese that kids loved. Totally synthetic of course," he laughed, "it was really stringy, we used to see who could make them last the longest. Gross."

"Whereabouts in town did you live?" she asked, "did you really ride past trees and gardens every day?"

"Just out in the suburbs, everyone had a garden, my mom loved hers, it was something she and my dad did together, she did the flowers, he kept the lawn and the trees tidy. He looked after the barbeque too. Those were the most exciting dinners, coming home from school to see dad in the garden firing up the barbeque. Really good on a Friday, sitting outside under blue skies til ten and then looking up at the stars while it was still warm."

"Who took the pictures?"

"We all took pictures. We all had phones with cameras, it was my mom's rule though, at the end of ever quarter we'd put our photographs together and decide which ones to print. So many people didn't print photographs, they had them online, on their phones, no need to print them, but my mom liked pictures round the house, she liked albums and scrapbooks. I liked them too. I know how lucky I am to have them."

"Do you have photos of you at fourteen?" she sipped her beer, "can I see?"

"Sure you can." Donald had finished his food, "those ones are actually over here, stay there I'll get them." He walked to the lounge and took a book from the shelves in there. Carrie hadn't noticed that there were shelves in the lounge, but there were. More books and more albums sat dusty in the dingy room. He brought the blue patterned album through and sat down next to her, pushing his plate to one side. "I should have let you look while I was talking," he shook his head, "my brain has obviously gone," he apologized and he opened the book by her side.

Carrie looked at his pictures, "is this a barbeque?" she smiled and asked looking at the pictures of the two boys sitting on green grass holding hamburgers, the smaller boy seemed to have food all over him while the older looked on in amusement. The garden was lush and green, purple, red and pink flowers and tall feathery grasses grew on the borders behind them. The other photos were of the same afternoon, the table was laden with colours, vegetables and salads, sauce bottles and meats. Donald's mom was an elegant but friendly looking woman, smiley like her son. His little brother was cute and his dad was tall and imposing but kind of goofy looking. Donald himself in the pictures seemed very young looking for fourteen despite being tall next to his parents, Carrie realized it was just an innocence that the fourteen year olds she knew didn't have because there were no responsibilities on his shoulders, all he had to worry about was homework, swimming practice and trying to draw something so good that Stephanie Richardson would notice him. He was just a kid.

"These are lovely things to have," she told him as they looked through the album. "The colours are so bright, and everything is so clean… I like your mom's garden. That must be why Tom's a natural farmer, your folks knew how to grow things."

She looked up at him and smiled.

"I think he's home," Donald told her and she turned around to look at the door. She hadn't heard the sound of his grandson's truck pulling up but she had gone into a bit of a dreamy coma while she drank and he spoke. Donald stood and went to unbolt the door. "Evening, Romeo," he spoke to his grandson who walked into the house with a grin on his face.

"Hey, Grandpa," Tom Cooper was tall and dark, with the sheepish grin on his face he still looked like a kid but at the same time he was a much stronger and bigger young man than the fifteen year old Carrie had taught four years previously. "Miss Hanley," Tom saw her at the table holding her beer and he smiled a surprised smile, "Hey, how are you?" he asked. Carrie stood up and smiled back, she kissed the boy on his cheek.

"Tom, it's so nice to see you, I'm well, thank you."

"What are you doing here?" he asked still smiling.

"Your grandpa was showing me some photograph albums, thought they might help with a community history project at school," she said flippantly, automatically.

"Miss Schoolteacher here likes her beer," Donald told the boy and he smiled, "found me a new drinking buddy."

Tom laughed politely as did Miss Hanley. "How's Lois' family?" Carrie asked him, "I heard you guys are steadies."

Tom blushed, "they're all good, Mrs Dixon cooked and I met her sister tonight, Lois' aunt," he explained, "she's one eccentric lady," he told them, "It was nice though." He paused, "Well, I'll leave you guys to it, I've got to be up early. It's really good to see you, Miss Hanley. You should come round next weekend, when Murph's home, I bet she'd love to tell you her adventures."

"Thanks, Tom. We'll see," Carrie smiled, "You're looking really well," she added.

The boy shrugged and then looked up at his grandpa.

"Night, Grandpa."

"Goodnight, Tom, glad you had a good time."

The boy climbed the stairs and Carrie waited til she heard a door click before she spoke. "I should go," she said quietly, "it's late."

Donald nodded knowingly, "it is. You be all right driving after those beers?"

"I'll be fine," she smiled.

"You're still welcome to stay, Carrie. In any room," he told her, "if you're a bit fuzzy."

"Thanks," she smiled, "but no, I'll go home." She cleared her throat a little and whispered, "I didn't really think about Tom, you know, earlier, when I- when I asked if I could stay. It's probably not a good idea, he's just a kid, it'd only worry him I bet."

Donald nodded in agreement and smiled at her, "I'll walk you to your truck," he offered and she smiled and nodded too. They walked outside and Donald watched her get into the drivers seat. She kept the door open and looked at him standing there.

"Does he go to the Dixons' through the week?" she asked him.

"Sure, lots of nights."

"You should come over to mine," she smiled, "some night this week, Wednesday or Thursday, I've got a bottle of wine we could drink."

"Swanky," he smiled.

"Sorry I said all that stuff about a community project," she whispered, "I didn't know what to say."

"It was good, you're quick on your feet, for a drunk."

"I'm not drunk," she smiled up at him, a grin on her face as she looked up at his smile.

"Sure."

"Donald," she said his name seriously.

"What is it, Sweetheart?"

"Thanks for the sex," she told him and her face flushed.

"It was my pleasure," he told her and she smiled and reached out and touched his chest affectionately for a moment, she let go and put her seatbelt on, Donald closed her door for her. She drove away and he waved her off.


	11. Chapter 11

Donald parked the truck up on the sidewalk and looked up at the old Hanley place. The shutters were closed but her car was in front. He'd driven past the school on the way there and checked the lot to make sure he wasn't going to arrive at her place too early, he wasn't sure what time schoolteachers got out anymore, especially as these days there were far more kids per adult.

It was odd, he hadn't felt anxious or nervous at any point in their friendship so far, not up to this point anyway. After she'd left his house five days previously that Friday night he had taken his scrapbook up to bed with him and looked through the pictures and drawings and embarrassing adolescent musings until he fell asleep. It hadn't taken long for him to drift off, she hadn't bored or tired him, physically he had felt a little tired and their encounter definitely resulted in a better night's sleep than he would usually get. But he had not sat there like a teenager excited about his new relationship, neither did he feel relieved like a pensioner that she was gone and he could sleep, he reflected on the previous hours and only felt amused that the evening had gone the way it had, he did not wonder what would happen the next time they saw each other, whatever happened would happen. His body and mind were relaxed and he was able to read his old memories and smile at them and he slept better than he had in months.

He looked down at the bag on the passenger seat, he'd brought some books and photograph albums for her. He suddenly wondered in a sort of paranoia that he hadn't felt since he was a teenager whether she was even interested in any of the old shit he had to offer her. He wasn't a young man so he could bring her nothing romantic- though she did not want that anyway… his grandson took preserves, oil, cornflour to his girlfriend's parents, maybe he should have done that. Jeez, he hadn't even brought beer- that was the normal thing to take to friends. It'd been so long since he'd had friends he'd forgotten and he'd turned into some old fart bringing round his old photograph albums so he could torture her with stories about when he wasn't so close to death.

He considered for a moment leaving them in the car but then shook his head. He knew she'd liked the diary, he would leave them for her to look at if she wanted to, there was no law saying she had to. He looked up through the dusty window to see her standing at her porch looking down at him.

"Are you coming in then?" she smiled and called out to him, she folded her arms, she was wearing her work clothes, "or are you going to sit in your car all night?"

Donald got out of the truck and brought the bag with him, "You have to be nice to me, I'm old and infirm," he said dryly as he shut the door.

"Yeah, yeah," she smiled up at him as he walked to join her on the porch, "that won't work on me," she told him and she kissed his cheek as he touched her arm in a sort of half-hug hello. "Come on, I'm dying to open that bottle."

They walked into her house and Carrie shut the door behind them and swept the faded green curtain across the doorframe, Donald looked up at it and smiled, his parents had had a curtain across the door, they'd only ever closed it in winter to keep out draughts. She smiled up at him and he followed her down the hall to her kitchen. "Is Tom at Lois's?" she asked as they walked.

"Yep. She was at ours on Monday afternoon, it's his turn to talk to her folks."

"Do you ever leave them alone in the house, Donald?" she smiled and raised an eyebrow as she brought two glass tumblers out from a cupboard and set them on the side before reaching for a cloth and wiping them dust-free.

"I haven't," he started and she looked up in surprise and spoke.

"They were seeing each other when Murph was still at school, that was nearly four months ago!"

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow.

"They're what, 19? They're steadies and they haven't had any time alone together?" she asked, "You should come here, give them the house for a day."

"I think her parents are nutso religious types," Donald smiled, "I have offered, Carrie. Tom hasn't taken me up on it, it's their choice." He watched her as she removed the screw top lid from the red wine and poured them a tumbler each. "Between you and me," he told her as she handed him the glass, "I'm not worried. Tom hasn't really had a problem in the past with me being in the house when it comes to girfriends. I say in the house, but hey, I always sat out on the porch with the radio on, usually pretending to read a book, or hid out in the barn pretending to look at one of Coop's machines. He's different with Lois, they always want to sit and talk to me or just sit and talk to each other."

"That's nice," Carrie smiled and she shrugged, "I guess."

"It is nice," Donald agreed, "I'm glad he has a good friend like her."

"Friendship," Carried moved her glass to his and clinked it before taking a sip of her wine. They stood at her kitchen table and drank their wine, Donald drank and looked around at her small kitchen, he'd put his plastic bag down on the table when he'd come into the room and had not felt any need to draw attention to it, he looked down at his host standing next to him, "That's not bad," she looked up at him and back down at the wine, "it's usually just a beer for me at the end of a school day, there are a few bottles of wine kicking about downstairs but I don't want to open any if it's just me."

"I haven't had wine since Christmas," Donald admitted.

"What do you guys do at Christmas?" Carrie smiled.

"just get together, same as most days I guess, but we tell stories and play board games, the kids like it. Do you go to friends'?"

"The last three years, yeah," she smiled, "we do the same, lots more drinking probably than you guys though." She shrugged, "mom and dad liked to drink," she said quietly, "I mean, not like- like alcoholics, but a good wine, that was what Christmas, what birthdays, holidays, what made them special for them. I guess that's why I don't want to drink on special occasions. I don't really think a special day should be special because you don't quite remember it."

There was a pause, "but you still _do_ drink at Christmas and birthdays," he clarified.

"Yeah, but that's not what it's about," she blushed and looked down at her glass on the table, her hand stayed fixed on it, "I like to have fun too," she looked up and spoke quietly, "mom and dad didn't like to have fun."

"You want to play a game, Carrie?" he tried and she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"What kind of game?" she asked a little nervously and she smiled.

"Get us some paper and pencils, " he told her and she grinned and left the room, leaving her glass on the table.

* * *

><p>They sat at the table, opposite each other and played a fifth time, the game they had been playing since he arrived. It was Carrie's turn to listen and to draw. The first time she had been slightly confused but by the end of her turn she got it and she found it very funny.<p>

"Ok," Donald held the book in front of him and looked through his glasses at the picture in front of him, "you ready?" he double checked and looked at Carrie, red faced and smiling from her glass of wine she grinned and giggled and nodded with her pencil poised, Donald looked up at the clock on the wall and waited for the second hand to touch the 12. "So there's a cat sitting in a sort of box, the cat has stripes and it looks tired. The cat's owner is a young man with curly hair and big goofy eyes, he's smiling and looking at the cat and holding a balloon in the shape of a dog with tall ears, the balloon is bigger than the cat."

"Is the guy to the left or the right of the cat?" Carrie asked quickly and she didn't look up from her paper as she drew.

"Oh, to the right, and the balloon is floating above the cat."

"Thank you!" Carrie continued to draw and Donald glanced up at the clock.

"Ten seconds," he smiled and he looked back at the drawing, "the guy is wearing a turtleneck sweater," he added and Carrie made a squealing sound and tried to rub some of her drawing away with the eraser on the end of her pencil. "Time's up." He told her and Carrie laughed and covered her drawing with her hands.

Donald put the book face down with it's pages open on the table, "let's see then," he told her in his best teacherly tone.

"No, I want to see the book first."

"That's not the rule," he smiled at her, "you show me, I know the image, so I'll know if it's good or not."

"Ok, fine," she smiled and showed him her drawing. She watched him take it, look at it, smile and laugh, his face contorted in confusion at parts of it. "Don't be so cruel!" she laughed at his reaction.

"I'm sorry, Carrie," he grinned, "just, I mean, are you sure you should be allowed to teach kids art?"

"You're such a bastard!" she grinned and she reached for the book and turned it over.

"It's that one, there," he pointed at the panel in the comic strip. "Good effort, but I did say the dog was bigger than the cat."

"Yeah well, you should have said the guy has a small nose and large hands!" she laughed as she compared the image she'd drawn to the one in the book. "how many points do I get?"

"three out of five I'd say, it's pretty much the same thing. Except your Garfield doesn't look as bored as he should."

"I'm only giving you two out of five for describing, you never even said the cat has a blanket round it- and he's lying down, not sitting!" she exclaimed.

"Garfield always looks like that."

"I didn't know what _Garfield _was until now!" She grinned and she laughed. Carrie stood up and walked to the side to retrieve the bottle of wine. She went to another cupboard and brought out a packet of tortilla chips, she brought them back to the table and topped up their glasses and opened the bag. She sat back down and took the large, well thumbed, book from him. It was a book of comic strips, funnies, each page was different and all the gags were self-contained. The book was old, it's spine had long since gone and all that was left was a bit of fabric weave. Donald had brought it for her to read- as most of the characters in the funnies were animals. "Now that I know the rules," she said in her own teacherly tone, "I say you're at an unfair advantage still."

"How so, Miss Hanley?" Donald smiled and took a few corn chips from the bag.

"You've read this book a million times, you know what every picture looks like. I think the only way to make it fair is if I describe to you some pictures from _my_ books."

"That sounds fair," he agreed. There was a pause as she looked down at his book and opened it at random and looked at the comic strips. She seemed to get distracted by its colourful pages and Donald watched her eyes dart and read and the corners of her mouth smile as she enjoyed it. "Do you like it?" he asked her.

"The game?" she looked up and she smiled, "it's really good," she grinned, "I think the kids at school would love it and it's about vocabulary as well as drawing, isn't it?" she grinned and laughed, "how good the drawing is depends on how good the other person is at describing something in front of them, it's brilliant."

"You like that book too," Donald observed as she dropped her eyes back to it, reading silently and smiling to herself, he drank more wine in the silence.

"It's the best," she grinned as she looked at it, then she looked up at him, "more well written than that diary you sent me," she joked and he laughed, she closed the book and put it down flat on the table. "What else did you bring?" she smiled and asked politely, "I didn't expect you to bring anything at all, this is very exciting," she confessed.

"You are easily excited after a glass or two," he told her calmly. "I just brought you your comics there and a couple of photo albums, excess photos from my interailing trip and an album of Egypt with Rachel, Janey's mom."

"Egypt!" Carrie breathed in excitement.

"Yeah, I guessed you'd like it," he smiled a little, "they're for you to look at," he added, "we don't have to look now."

"No, no, I'd love to have you tell me about them," she insisted, she stood up and picked up both their glasses of wine, "we should go in the lounge, let's go in the lounge," she smiled.

In the lounge Carrie turned the side lamps on and they buzzed dully, their bulbs warming the dark room slowly, Donald sat down on her sofa and put his photograph albums to one side, he was more interested in the stacks of books on her coffee table. Three piles of schoolbooks, she must have been marking work when he'd arrived.

"Is this for tomorrow? Did you get it all done?" he asked her as he picked up one of the books, he held it up and smiled at her, "Our friend Stephen James," he noted, "how's he doing in math?" he looked through the work and noted all the red ticks and good grades, he made a sound of surprise, "maybe that kid's not as stupid as he looked," he said to himself and Carrie smiled but didn't laugh.

"None of the kids are stupid," she told him and she took the book from him and put it back in its rightful pile, she smiled a small smile as she sat down next to him, "I know it's different to how it used to be, the system I mean, but the class sizes are small, Ben and I can give a lot of our time if anyone's struggling with anything."

"I know, I know," he smiled, "I actually think it's probably better now, kids get more attention when the teachers know them all."

"I have thirty four students at the moment," she stated as she looked not at him but at her books, she pointed at the piles, "fifteen little ones, (ten to twelves), seven middlers and nine in their final couple of years."

"What the heck is a 'middler'?" Donald laughed.

"Oh," she smiled and blushed, "that's what we call them, the ones in the middle."

"Doesn't it get confusing, having all these different age groups in one class? Teaching them different things at the same time?"

Carrie looked at him a little blankly then smiled, "It's how I was schooled- and Jane," she added, "and no, it's not. Everyone has something to get on with, and if there's nothing to get on with then you read quietly until I get to you." She reached for their wine, she'd set both down on the side table next to her, she gave him his glass and drank from her own, "And because it's not an age based system of teaching no one is forced to progress at levels that are too hard or too easy for them. Murph was on finals stuff all last year. Oh," she smiled and looked up at him, "and everyone is friends no matter what age they are, they all do art together. Just like us," she grinned and he smiled down at her.

"You like your job, don't you?" he asked. She was animated as she spoke, it was evident that she was passionate about it. It made Donald happy to know that she had something in her somewhat habitual life that she was really excited about still after nearly twenty years of doing it.

She shrugged and hid behind her glass, "I like the kids, I like that I'm teaching them things that they didn't know before and that they are excited by it or, or at least I try and make sure they all get something out of it, English, history, art, some of them even get something out of math," she joked a little but spoke quietly. "I think teaching used to be about preparing people for being grown up, going out into the world, but, but you know what it's like… The kids round here, their parents are farmers, they already know how to do the work they're going to go in to. I hope that what we give the kids at school is knowledge, interest, and with the arts, well, I guess I just want them to have something they can enjoy on another level, a level that doesn't feel like work."

Donald watched her drink her wine, she finished the glass. She enjoyed giving the kids she taught a taste of a world that was dead and gone, it was what she enjoyed getting from him and his memories and photograph albums. He found it a little sad but he was glad that she was the kind of person in charge of the town's kids. She looked up at him, "I know you weren't supposed to be a farmer, Donald," she said quietly, "what would you have liked to do? Do you mind me asking?"

"You ask whatever you like, sweetheart," he smiled and spoke softly, he shrugged. "This didn't start to happen you know, 'til I was 31. The Earth degenerating I mean, the economy, the networks, fuel, everything crashing down around us, it took a while before people even admitted it was happening."

"I know," she said quietly and he nodded, of course she knew, he felt a little light headed from the wine and in the dim light he forgot for a moment he wasn't talking to a kid, but a teacher of nearly 40, she knew her history.

"I did my masters in Humanities, I told you that, right?" she nodded, "I started doing a phD, I was doing it when I met Rachel, I was lecturing at the college- in Chicago," he added, "I was living in Chicago- and tending a bar downtown between my research but I never really wanted to go into teaching, lecturing, that was just what you did." He laughed and shook his head, "wow, it's been years since I thought about any of this stuff," he admitted and he smiled down at the books on her coffee table, "I actually had big ideas, big ideas that became totally pointless of course, but I don't know, it's funny," he trailed off, "listening to you talking about what you do, what you _actually_ do for the kids, it's kind of what I wanted. The arts," he told her simply. "I was campaigning for the arts. Everything was digital, people worked remotely, isolated by technology, at schools kids were taught digitally, computers everywhere, it was ridiculous the lack of human interaction that last generation got. I mean yeah, great, Cooper was a whizz-kid, engineering scholarship at 15, but by 19 when they finally gave in to the death of technology he was working on a farm, all the kids were. The arts became neglected in those final boom years, and I know it's stupid to talk about it now, but I'm really pleased, Carrie, I'm so fucking pleased," he stressed, "that teachers like you exist."

Carrie touched his arm, he'd become quite tense as he talked, he looked down and relaxed, shook his head and smiled, he patted the hand in thanks and took his hand away from hers. "It was Michael's farm," he looked down at her, "my brother, you remember, the one covered in the ice cream sandwich," she smiled and let go of him. "you know that, right?"

She shrugged, "sort of. It's a small place, my folks liked to know who everyone was, I don't remember your brother being there, but I think I knew it was his first."

"He went straight into it after school, he liked farming. We were an odd family I guess, I liked the old arts, he liked even older traditions, growing things, working outdoors. I don't know what I would have ended up doing if Michael hadn't let me come and work for him."

"What did Rachel's folks do? Was she from round here?"

"Rachel was from Milwaukee, her parents worked for Honda. They- they were supposed to join us out here, but they stayed one too many winters and when the lakes flooded the whole city was gone. They were gone," he sad quietly, "she never really got over that, I mean, how the fuck could you?" he shrugged a little.

Carrie said nothing for a moment then asked quietly, "What was she studying? She was at Chicago with you, right?"

"She was," he smiled, "a beautiful undergrad studying fine art and I was a tall balding phD student of 26 who could get her and her buddies discount drinks at my bar without asking for their IDs."

"Donald!" Carrie laughed and closed her eyes, leaning back on her sofa and shaking her head. "You seduced an underage girl with booze! That is not what I was expecting at all! You're awful!"

"Only just under drinking age, Carrie," he stressed, "_drinking age_ is the important bit. 20 years old, kind of a homebody, she went home every weekend to see her folks, but they liked me. Turned out Rachel had always had problems with being away from home, she liked going on holiday with her parents but she didn't like being away from them. As soon as she got a boyfriend though, she had no trouble going away- transference, that's what that is. We went all sorts of places in those first four years, all over the country, then to Russia, Indonesia, Africa, they were wonderful years. She liked taking pictures too," he told his friend, "so I brought you Egypt to see."

Carrie clapped her hands and shuffled in her seat as he reached for the album, the cover was red and patterned with stripes and spots, a sketchy, tribal design.

"Oh, look! Look!" Carrie smiled as soon as he opened the book and they looked at the first page, four views of the pyramids of Egypt and one view of Rachel standing goofily on the balcony of their shabby apartment and pretending to hold the distant pyramid tiny in her hand.

Carrie turned the pages of the book and looked down at the pictures with interest. The young man in his late twenties was already verging on the edge of forty somehow, his hair receding and his height and broad shoulders emphasized more by the smallness and youth of the pale freckled brunette in the pictures with him. Carrie had no memory of Rachel, it had always been Donald who'd picked his daughter up from school or been at school plays and concerts, the girl in the picture was a stranger to her, she could see Jane in her but the more Carrie thought of Jane the less she could remember of her as well. She suddenly felt tense and wondered if she was being insensitive to make her guest look at pictures and tell her stories about his long dead wife, so she looked at the pages silently.

Pictures of yellow rocks and sands under bright blue skies, camels, brightly coloured markets, pots, jewelry, people. Huge palaces, rocks and ruins. The deep blue river against the white sands and buildings, green palms stuck out like miracles in the whites and yellows, the colours were so different to the ones in his journal of Europe but still amazing to see. And what was extra nice about it was how goofy his girlfriend was, Carrie was pleased to see Rachel enjoying herself, she even grinned and sighed little breaths of laughter as she looked at the pictures of the two of them together larking about. There were some nice shots of each of them and of both of them, young, carefree, serious about each other but nothing else.

"How long were you there?" she asked quietly as she noticed she was running out of pages and they hadn't said anything to one another.

"Just five days, not long enough," he replied.

"Do you think it's all still there?" she said even quieter still.

Donald was silent and he listened to Carrie turning the pages. "Yeah. I think it is," he said quietly, "even if it's underwater. It'll always be there."

"Sorry," she said quietly, "that was kind of morbid."

"I'm a grown up," he told her, "I can deal with it."

"Did you guys have a nice time?" Carrie looked up at him, "it looks like a really nice time," she smiled, "Rachel must have been good with the sun cream."

Donald laughed and looked down at the pictures, "She was!" he said in amazement, "she always was. I'd forgotten." He smiled, "we did have a good time, a really good time. "

"Good," she said quietly. "Do you want another glass, Donald? I reckon we'd better finish it," she told him as she stood up and walked around the coffee table and to the door, "in case it goes off or something," she tried and she smiled and left the room.

Donald picked up his photograph album and looked down at the pictures of Rachel, she was 23 in the pictures, a child, he had trouble remembering her that way, even though she had only lived ten more years it was a much older Rachel in his memories. He looked up at the schoolteacher as she topped up his glass with the last of the wine. Carrie was already older than his wife had ever been, hell, the _wine_ was older than his wife had ever been.

"How old were you, first time you had a proper boyfriend, Carrie?" Donald heard himself ask suddenly, the voice that came out of his mouth sounded embarrassingly ancient.

Carrie raised her eyebrows and beneath her blonde fringe her forehead wrinkled as she thought, "18, I guess," she shrugged, "I was with him for four years, Henry Jospeh, you know him, right, works on the Pritchards' farm, married and has five kids. I teach two of them," she looked at him and noticed his faraway look, "why?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Just wondering if maybe Rachel was too young to settle into that kind of relationship so fast." He looked at his friend, "she's a kid in these photos. That's not how I remember her at all."

"People were kids for longer then," Carrie said quietly, "she was studying art, she lived with her parents, she was a kid, and so were you. Just, you know, you were like, a bald kid," she grinned a little and he laughed. "Donald, all my friends were already married at 18. To be 22 and be single I was already an old maid! And I'm guessing Rachel in these pictures is older than me when I earned my spinster badge."

"Is that why it didn't work out, you and Henry? You knowing your true vocation- spinsterhood?"

"Well, yeah," she grinned and she crossed her legs, sitting up on the sofa. "He wanted to get married and have children and I knew I never wanted that, so he left. I wasn't sad about it. He was pretty mad though," she confessed and she smiled still, "he considered our years together just a big waste of time, rather than thinking fondly on some nice times we had."

"Ah well, he's over it now."

"My parents never liked him."

"Well, I've never really liked him either," he confessed.

"Shall we play a drinking game?" Carrie smiled and asked suddenly.

"Sweetheart, it's Wednesday, you've got school tomorrow, there's no way I'm letting you open another bottle," he smiled at her and she laughed while looking back at him, "I'm glad you're a fun drunk, but really, this is enough."

"I don't mean open anything else, I mean we've got a glass each left," she smiled and held up her tumbler of wine, "we play _I Have Never_ and then the drink is gone and it's bed time and then school and so on until the weekend."

"Oh, yes, Tom asked me to remind you you're invited on Saturday, have dinner with us, Murph will be back, it'll be nice."

She smiled and her face flushed red, "Oh, well, thank you, I mean, thank him for me… I meant to say," she smiled a little and looked down at her glass in her hands, "after Friday, Tom's grown so big and he's so nice, he's just like you," she smiled at him and Donald did a little double take and was speechless for a moment himself.

"Thanks. That- that's a real compliment, that you think I'm like him I mean. Tom would probably think it was a horrendous insult the other way round. So, will you come on Saturday?"

"Will you play I Have Never?" she grinned.

"Fuck, ok, then," he gave in and she smiled and nodded.

"Ok, I will then, I'll be over on Saturday." She rolled up her sleeves a little, "ok, I have never…" she thought about it, "been abroad," she finished matter of factly.

"Carrie, you're just trying to get me drunk," he took a sip of his wine. "I have never kissed a boy," he retorted and Carrie smiled down at her drink and took a sip, she looked up to see Donald drinking as well.

"Donald!" she grinned.

"Yeah, I forgot," he admitted, "I made out with Charlie once."

"Charlie, from your Europe trip?" she said in amazement, "that wasn't in your diary!" she grinned and laughed.

"It wasn't while we were in Europe, it was at an undergrad party in a situation similar to this one, ie during a drinking game," he smiled back at her. "He was good though, he had technique, that's why he was such a ladykiller."

Carrie snorted with laughter, "All right, all right, let's just find out a bit more about you, I have never fucked a boy," she said and she drank and looked at him expectantly. Donald did not drink, "that's ok," she shrugged and smiled, "I wouldn't have been surprised though."

"Really?"

"Well, you're arty, aren't you?" she smiled at him and he shook her head.

"Ok, my turn. I have never crashed a car."

"Me neither," she said after they both paused and looked at each other not drinking.

"Maybe I will driving home after all this wine."

"I have never had a bath," she smiled and she raised her glass to drink, then giggled as he drank and raised an eyebrow, "I forgot the rules," she admitted, "I really haven't," she told him honestly and held the glass in front of her and made a point of not drinking it.

"You will," he told her.

"I've not much left," she told him, "better think of something exciting you've done so you can catch up."

"I've never lied to get a job," he tried and he drank the penultimate gulp from his glass, to his surprise she drank too. "What did you lie about? Your parents _gave _you your job? Did you tell them you had a doctorate or something?"

"I'm talking about my first job, not being a teacher," she said confidentially and she smiled and put her glass down, she moved closer to him on the sofa and nudged him conspiratorially, "I worked at the Baptist church when I was fifteen, just typing out their programs, helping out, dusting things."

"You lied to the church?" he said solemnly and Carrie was taken aback before she realized he was joking and she hit his chest softly.

"Shut up," she giggled, "I told them I believed in God," she whispered and she smiled, "my mom had already got me the job, I don't even know why I did it, I guess I was trying to prove how dedicated I would be to, you know, my job of straightening chairs."

"I told the bar I knew how to mix cocktails," Donald admitted his lie, "I knew two cocktails, a Manhattan and a Mojito. My lie is probably worse than yours."

"Well, yeah," she agreed, "I didn't lie about my qualifications!"

"So am I the winner or the loser because I still have a drink?"

"I think you're the loser," she smiled and her teeth shone through her lips.

"I think the scoring system of this game is flawed." He looked up at the clock on her mantelpiece. It was nearing nine pm. "Come on, honey, time to drink a pint of water and off to bed with you."

Carrie looked back at the clock and sighed and frowned, "You just wait 'til Summer vacation!" she pointed angrily at it. "I'll stay up 'til two drinking everything and anything!"

"Yeah, you tell that clock," he said quietly and he finished his wine and stood up and reached for her glass.

"Donald," she looked up at him from her seat on the sofa, "I like how big you are," she told him.

"Thanks, sweetie," he told her and he took the glass from her hand and took it to her kitchen, setting the glasses in the sink and then running the tap and fetching her a large glass of water.

He brought her the glass and sat down next to her. Carrie drank the water with a sudden thirst. "I think it was time for water," she told him once more in a confidential tone. "None for you?"

"I'll be ok," he told her, "perks of being big," he explained and smiled a wry sideways smile but didn't look at her. Carrie blushed behind her glass.

She felt tipsy and seeing him tower over her she had felt excited remembering the Friday night before, but she had so enjoyed their evening and was now invited for Saturday dinner as well with his family, kids she used to teach, she had to make the effort to be just friends. It was what she'd told him she wanted and she knew it was what they both needed, to just be friends.

"Come on, Miss Hanley." Donald said kindly, "get up and get to bed." He looked at her, she'd finished the glass of water silently. He stood up and she did too.

"I'll see you out first," she smiled at him and spoke softly. "I had a really nice time, Donald, thanks so much for coming to play." She grinned and he smiled down at her and laughed quietly.

"I'll leave you the photo albums," he told her, "no rush to bring them back."

"Thanks."

They walked to her front door and she swept the curtain aside kicking up a bit of dust in the gloomy air. She opened the door for him and he stepped out onto her porch. "You'll still get a good night's sleep." He told her, "You did finish marking those books, didn't you? You never answered."

She nodded. "Course I did," she smiled quietly, "I've been doing this twenty years," she reminded him.

"I know, I know," he shook his head, "sorry."

"Come here," she told him, she reached up and put her arms around him, he hugged back, held her a moment or two longer than a friendly goodbye and she shivered slightly and dug her fingers into him. Donald kissed her cheek but Carrie moved her mouth to his and kissed him, he let her and kissed her gently, then let go of her gradually. "Sorry," she whispered and she looked at her hands as they came down his arms and she let go of him, she looked up and blushed. "You know I'll be bored of you in six months anyway," she tried and joked, he grinned at her.

"That's fine by me, Carrie." He paused, "see you on Saturday, ok? Come round about six." She nodded and smiled and Donald walked to his truck. She closed her door and her curtain then walked to her lounge, sat down and picked up her red pen and the pile of books she hadn't graded yet.


	12. Chapter 12

Murphy Cooper sat on her bed cross-legged and read her book. It was a physics theory book that Professor Brand had given her. There were parts she didn't understand and those were the parts she was cross-referencing with the encyclopedias and reference books on her dusty shelves.

Her grandfather knocked on her doorframe and looked down at her, she smiled up at him. "They give you homework when they know you're coming back here?" he said in slight disbelief.

"It's not homework, Grandpa," she closed her book and smiled as he entered the room and sat down next to her, "it's just a book I'm reading, you know, for fun!"

"It looks a barrel of laughs," he said dryly as he read the cover. Murph turned it over and he looked up at her as she fumed a little.

"I thought you might want to come and help me cook the dinner," he told her.

"You've never needed any help before," she said in surprise.

Donald laughed at her response, "Murph, you brat! You're supposed to offer to help. Teenagers, jeez-oh!"

"Oh," Murph blushed and then frowned, she didn't like being tricked into feeling bad.

"Come on, Sweetiepie," he smiled at her, "don't get mad, I just miss your company, that's all. Come and make the dinner with me."

"Ok," she snapped out of it as she looked up at him. Over the last three years she had sometimes been bad, been awful and always her grandpa was patient, kind and calm. She would not be mad with him for anything, he was never mad with her. They walked down the stairs together, "What time's Miss Hanley getting here?" Murph asked as they walked to the kitchen.

"I told her six," Donald replied, "get the mixing bowl out, you're in charge of the muffins."

"Aw, what?" Murph said in annoyance, "muffins?"

"I got you this, so you'd better follow your mom's recipe well otherwise that's a waste." He handed her the plastic wrapped tub of dried parmesan, "and don't use it all," he warned her.

Murph took the wrapping off and stood back, her eyes watering, "God, it stinks!" she said in horror and she looked up with a wrinkled nose to her chuckling grandfather.

"It's supposed to smell like that," he told her, "trust me, it'll go with the chowder."

"Ooh, chowder," Murph suddenly became interested and walked to her Grandfather's end of the table, she looked at his ingredients and picked up one of the small cans, it had a ring pull, "Where'd you get this?" she said with interest.

"I will never reveal my sources," he told her as she looked at the can of crabmeat.

"Well, I'm looking forward to dinner now," she told him and she leaned her elbows on the table and watched him stripping the corn from it's cob. "You know we get chicken and fish five times a week at the institute," she looked up at him, "sometimes more than that."

Donald smiled, it was another reason he had been quite glad to send Murph away, the people in that place had more resources, more medical supplies, more everything. His granddaughter would be looked after. He'd listened to her talk about the meals she'd had a lot, sometimes it was all she wrote about, but he liked hearing it and he liked reading it. Tom on the other hand did not like hearing about it, her brother had even gone so far to say to his grandfather that the people there might have given some thought to them and next time Murph came home they could give her something for the family if it was all so bountiful. Donald agreed with Tom of course but he did not let himself get angry about the thoughtlessness of others, people who have everything rarely think of those who don't, Donald was just grateful that one of his family was being well looked after.

"So, why is Miss Hanley coming over, again?" Murph sighed as she watched him preparing the food but still did not return to muffin-duty.

"Because your brother invited her," Donald said simply. Murph shrugged and sat down.

"I'd rather she wasn't coming over," Murph told him and he looked down at her and raised an eyebrow waiting for her to elaborate. "I'll be good," she stressed at his look and she folded her arms, "just I only get two days off a week and I just want to relax, ok?" she huffed.

"I understand that, missy," Donald said to her patiently, "but your brother doesn't get any days off and I think he thought it would be nice for all of us, for you, for me, for Miss Hanley and for himself if we could have a nice meal together instead of eating alone- which is what a lot of us do most nights even if you don't."

"But you could have done that a night when I'm not here," she suggested.

"Murph," Donald sighed and put down his knife, "is it such a bore that maybe your brother and your old teacher might want to hear about what you've been up to since you left? Your brother and I haven't seen you for two weeks, Miss Hanley hasn't seen you for four months, we used to see you every day. It's because you're back that she's coming over for dinner."

"You know I can't talk about NASA!" Murph said angrily and she stood up, "What am I supposed to do, lie? Tell her I'm at some fancy private school that only teaches deserted orphans?" She moved to the stairs angrily, "I just want to sit in my room and read my book!" she told him.

"Murph!" Donald said her name angrily and she turned around and looked back at him. "She's coming over because she's my friend, ok?" he told her plainly. "I don't have many friends. You know that. But since you left, since I've been on my own here, Carrie's been a good friend. She wanted to see you because I talk about you a lot."

Murph was silent and she felt confused but her teenage anger was dissipating, "Tom said you were friends," she said quietly, "but I thought he must be lying. Why's Miss Hanley want to be friends with you?"

"Gee, thanks, Murph," Donald smiled at her and she blushed and came back to the table and stood by her mixing bowl.

"No, I mean," Murph looked up at him, "she's not like, _a girlfriend_?" Murph asked in a tone of quiet disbelief.

"Of course not," Donald smiled, "she's my drinking buddy."

"Is she gay?" Murph said with interest.

"I haven't asked her," Donald continued to make his chowder, cutting up his ingredients and sorting them onto a large plate in neat piles.

"What do you talk about?"

"She likes comic books and she likes hearing about what the world used to be like. Same as you used to. She tells me about her job, the school and the classes she teaches. She's friends with me because she doesn't want to be anyone's girlfriend, she just wants someone to talk to."

"She_ is_ gay," Murph said finitely.

"Well, maybe that's one of the things you can talk to her about later," Donald decided to stop talking. There was no point trying to explain to a teenager with bad mood-swings why two people who weren't her might want to be friends. He hadn't planned on telling her any of what he'd said but she'd been so spoiled about the whole idea that someone might come over for dinner that he'd felt reminding her that he was lonely was the only way to calm her down. Tom had never been a moody teenager and neither had Jane, he remembered Rachel at 21 behaving badly in front of her parents when they had been together for a year, he'd been mortified, Rachel had only ever been angry with herself, at least Murph's anger it recent years he could understand was all directed at her absent father.

* * *

><p>Tom was locking up the barn when Miss Hanley drove up to the farm, he waved to her and walked to join her as she parked up and got out of her truck. "Hi, Tom," she smiled and walked to him and kissed his cheek. The teenager blushed and mumbled a hello, "Is your sister back?" Carrie tried as they walked up to the house.<p>

"Yeah, got back last night, she's inside with Grandpa."

"She well?"

"Well as ever," Tom smiled, "got a whole bunch more science things to talk about that none of us understand."

Carrie laughed and the young man opened the door for her, Tom followed her in and closed the door behind him, "that smells great, Grandpa," he blurted before Murph or Donald could say hello to either of them, "sorry, been out in the fields all day, I'm starving," he apologized quietly and Carrie smiled at him.

"Hey, Carrie," Donald leant and kissed her cheek, she blushed and kissed the air.

"Hi, Donald," she smiled and he left her, walking back to the stove. "Hey, Murph," she looked down at the redhead at the table, she was reading a book.

"Hi, Miss Hanley," Murph looked up at her and almost smiled, but didn't.

"You guys can call me Carrie," she told her and she looked at Tom too who smiled back at her and nodded. "I'm not your teacher anymore."

"Ok," Murph said simply.

"Tom, get Carrie a drink," Donald told his grandson who was drinking a large glass of water at the sink himself, "You want a beer, Carrie?"

"Water's fine," she said quietly and looked at Tom who had not asked the question but was waiting patiently for the answer. He fetched a glass and got her some water. "What's the book, Murph?" she asked and she sat down at the table a few seats away, where Tom set the glass down for her.

"Science," she said back.

"Homework?"

"No, just a book." Murph looked up at her grandfather who had turned and spoke to her.

"Murph, are those muffins ready yet?"

She closed the book and got up, she bent down on the floor and looked through the oven window, then she looked up at the clock. "Another couple of minutes yet," she opened the oven and peeked in, a waft of cheese hit her in the face and she blinked.

"Wow, what's that?" Carrie said as she instantly felt her mouth watering.

"Grandpa bought parmesan," Murph stood up, "I don't know if I've ever had it but it didn't smell great when I was making them."

"Oh, I bet they taste great though," Carrie said excitedly, "parmesan's one of those things that tastes like nothing on its own but brings out flavours in other foods. How much did it cost, Donald?" she looked up at the chef but Murph answered for him.

"He won't tell, he won't even say where it came from. He's got tinned crab and shrimp too, he's probably sold all his organs to get them."

"Well… it smells like it was worth it."

"That's easy for you to say, you still have your liver," Donald piped up.

Carrie smiled and Murph spoke, "Grandpa, did you ever eat liver? Tom," she looked up at her brother who had changed his shirt and was sitting now at the top of the table, "we had chicken liver for dinner on Wednesday, it was _so_ weird."

"What did you have it with?" Donald asked and looked round at his granddaughter who was sitting at the table now and talking to her audience.

"it was just on toast!" Murph said in amazement. "It was too rich, I didn't like it."

"Next time put it in a napkin and bring it back for your grandpa," Donald told her and he took his soup off the heat and set it down in the middle of the table on the wicker mat. "Murph, where are those muffins?"

"Oh, yes." Murph stood up again and opened the oven, flooding the kitchen with a wave of heat.

* * *

><p>Carrie couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten something that excited her. Her parents had been quite conservative with food, they hadn't been interested, the Hanley family recipes were straight out of the federal guidelines for school lunches, the basics. And as a teacher she ate the same as the kids, it was all routine, the same meals for forty years. But she did know about food… Past boyfriends had been able to provide some interesting meals, all families had different special things that they made and her friends too had contributed to the range of things she'd tried. But being on her own she didn't save her money to buy special things, she had cornflakes and powdered milk each morning, she ate at school with the children each lunchtime and in the evening she'd have whatever there was, chips, pickles, conserves. She knew it wasn't healthy but there was something ingrained in her, some deep psychological thing formed by her parents lack of imagination and their fear of the unknown, Carrie sometimes felt she didn't deserve to have anything nice or interesting. Who was she to merit a tin of anchovies? She was just a spinster school teacher, there were families with children who deserved them more.<p>

During her meal at the farm Carrie felt food-drunk. She'd been sipping water with her meal and listening to the family chatter and talk, she'd laughed and smiled and joined in their conversations but she was content in feeling like she was dropping in on someone else's dream, watching from the sidelines in the warm, well-lit room with its wonderful smells. She sat at a plentiful table with two strong and silent men, one young and one old, and the bright child who smiled and spoke animatedly to her family something she had not done for a long time when she had last been in Carrie's classroom.

Murph spoke about her week, the books she was reading, the food she'd eaten and the things she was studying at the private institute of learning. Her tutelage was one on one, with lots of teachers, her mind and her interests were expanding rapidly under this privileged way of learning. She was a gifted child and her family knew it. Even her brother- stuck as head of a household, head of a large farm, at only 19 was big enough to smile and be happy his sister had the opportunities he never did. When Tom spoke it was jovial and he spoke only about his girlfriend and her family and the evenings he spent with them. It was the love in his life that was the calming influence he needed to know his contribution to the family was worthwhile. Donald listened. Never before had Carrie known a man to just sit patiently and listen. Her father had been quiet but he had not listened, he had not shown interest. Donald listened to both his grandchildren and he asked questions, he encouraged and most importantly he joked, he quipped and he made them laugh. Murph's life was full of learning but at home she still laughed and was reminded she could be silly and she could be a child and the only responsibility she had was to make the muffins and lay the table. Tom too had such hard days, he worked and slaved outdoors to provide for them, to provide for everyone, but at home he could talk to his grandpa about the girl he loved and he could laugh at a joke and relax at an inviting table each night.

After their meal they continued to sit at the table and talk, Murph cleared their plates and left them for a moment, telling them she'd be back.

"Did she take a plate upstairs?" Tom shook his head and folded his arms at the head of the table as he smiled at his little sister's behavior.

"Maybe it's for an experiment," Donald tried and he moved from the table and went towards the sink.

"I'll do that," Tom got up quickly and moved in front of his grandfather and stopped him, "you sit and talk to Carrie," he ran the water before the old man could protest and Donald sat back down and smiled at their guest.

"He's the boss," Donald said quietly and Carrie smiled at him.

"I've never seen Murph so animated," Carrie spoke quietly to them both and she smiled up at Tom behind her too, "I'm so glad," she told Donald. "That was an amazing meal, you guys sure live well."

Tom grinned at the washing up and looked down at his former teacher, "It's not like this every night," he told her, "when it's just us we have pancakes five nights a week."

"We try and do something nice for when Murph's home though," Donald spoke, "you got lucky."

Carrie smiled at him, her face was flushed from the heat and the good food, she knew he had gone to the extra effort for his granddaughter but she couldn't help wondering if a little of it was for her as well. He had adopted her, not as daughter, not as lover but as something, he cared more than he should have and she did too, she couldn't help but find him admirable.

"Ta da!" Murph walked down the stairs holding the little cream plate in front of her, she looked up at Tom who was still at the sink behind the others and her face changed a little and she frowned, "Tom, I told no one to move!"

"Nearly finished," he promised.

Murph walked carefully to the table with her plate and set it down in the centre. On the plate, whose gold edge had worn to a dull golden brown over the years and lost its sparkle were six individually wrapped chocolates, all in shiny purple paper.

"Murph, thank you!" Carrie was the first to speak as they all looked down at the offering. "Where did you get them?"

"Professor Brand gave them to me," Murph sat down, "there were a couple more," she admitted, "but I ate them."

Carrie grinned, "I would have probably eaten the whole lot."

Donald watched the girls smiling at one another. "Coffee I think," he said and he stood up, "Coffee and chocolate, how continental."

"Professor Brand is originally from England, in Europe," Murph told their guest, "but he's lived in America since he was young."

"England," Carrie smiled, "how dashing."

Murph laughed and rolled her eyes, "I doubt anyone would say Professor Brand is dashing, he's even older than grandpa."

Carrie laughed and Donald set the mugs down on the table while the kettle boiled on the stove. "Thanks, Murph." He said dryly.

Tom put down a small jug of milk that he'd made up at the sink and he pinched his sister as he walked past, Murph shot him a glance and he shot one back. "Sorry there's six," Murph told her audience about the chocolates. "I didn't know you were coming when I ate the other two," she told Carrie.

"I'll just have one," Carrie smiled in thanks, "you guys should still have two," she told the children, "I'm sure your grandpa won't mind."

"You have both of mine, Carrie," he told her as he poured the coffee, "I've eaten my fair share of chocolate, believe me."

Murph's face fell and Carrie noticed it, "I'm so full, Donald, I'm telling you I couldn't possibly have two," she said plainly and Donald looked up at her face from stirring the milk into the mugs. She flashed her eyes and he looked at Murph who sat in silence.

"Good," Donald said and he reached for the plate and took the chocolate, he smiled at Murph who smiled back at him, happy once more.

They sat and drank coffee and each of them savoured their chocolate. Only Murph ate as though they were going out of fashion, and popped the second one in almost immediately after she'd swallowed the first. Tom kept his second chocolate beside him and both Carrie and Donald knew he kept it for Lois.

"This has been like Christmas," Carrie thought out loud and then blushed terribly as Murph giggled a little. "Yeah, ok, my holidays aren't great," Carrie rolled her eyes and admitted to the smiling girl. "Thanks so much for having me," she told them all quietly, "I've had such a nice time."

"Do you live on your own, Carrie?" Murph asked bluntly.

Carrie nodded, "I used to live with my parents, but my dad-" she paused suddenly in paranoia and wondered if mentioning her father would upset Murph, "died," she finished, it was only a split-second pause but it was enough of a stumble that her face paled and she swallowed, "and my mom moved away."

"Your mom left? Where'd she go?" Murph asked without a beat and Carrie suddenly realized that it wasn't about fathers, it was about a parent leaving their child. The deceased parent would never be at fault.

"She's in Kansas," Carrie replied, "with her sister. She looks after her," she lied. In reality both women lived odd solitary lives in the large house in Kansas preferring to be alone with their memories. She rarely wrote and when she did reply to Carrie's weekly letters she did not show much interest in her daughter's life she wrote only about what she felt her husband might do or say if he was still alive. She was never really meant to be a parent.

"Oh. That's ok then." Murph said, "I mean, that's nice," she smiled.

Donald reached and touched Carrie's arm on the table, he squeezed it momentarily and she looked up at him in surprise but he let go before she could really acknowledge it and he changed the subject.

"Murph, tell Brand next time we want chocolates with nuts in them."

"He's not a candy store, Grandpa!" Murph grinned in amusement.

* * *

><p>Murph dried the dishes as her brother passed them to her. "I reckon she misses her dad, and that's why she likes him," Tom said quietly and Murph paused and looked outraged, Tom looked down at her and smiled. "It's not <em>so<em> weird, Murph," he assured her.

They had only been on their own for a moment, their grandfather was outside, walking their guest to her car, behind the thick glass and the shutters and the walls and the door the two siblings could hear and see nothing of whatever was happening and Tom couldn't help and wonder if it was more than it seemed. His grandfather didn't even have any male friends let alone female ones and yet Carrie Hanley had been assimilated into the family as if she'd always been part of it.

There was no question that Carrie was a looker, she had always been secretly lusted after by every teenage boy she taught for the last twenty years. Tom was no exception, he remembered eight years previously, joining her class and instantly falling in love with her. She wasn't just pretty but she was kind too, something every boy noted, especially those without mothers.

"Well, maybe," Murph said gruffly, "but why's Grandpa like her?" Tom grinned down at her and raised his eyebrows, Murph rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out, "Urgh, you are so gross." She said angrily, "Grandpa's not like that."

"I know," Tom said to calm and reassure his sister, but he did wonder. He too had never thought of his grandfather in that sort of light but because it was so unlikely and because he himself had discovered after a string of girlfriends a very pure sort of love with Lois Dixon he wondered if there was nothing sexual between his old grade teacher and his grandfather then there might still be something deeper than just a friendship.

* * *

><p>"I had such a lovely time," Carrie said softly as they stood beside her truck, "I was- I was serious when I said it was better than Christmas," she shook her head, "boy, I'm so tragic," she whispered to herself more than him.<p>

"I'm glad you had a good time." Donald told her gently, "Murph really liked having you there, I can tell." He promised and she looked up at him and he smiled, "do you think she would have brought those chocolates out if she hadn't wanted you to have one?" She smiled and in the light from the porch he could see her teeth flash white. "Tom likes you too," he said gently, "he usually goes to bed early. We don't have many friends, guests," he shrugged, "but I think you were a hit. You should come again."

"Will you come to my place again?" she asked quietly.

"If you like," he smiled at her.

"Donald," she whispered and she put her arms up and around his neck. He held her, in surprise a little, she seemed overcome, she pressed her hot face to his cheek, it burned and he held her close. "You said the other night that you're glad teachers like me exist, well, I'm glad parents like you exist." She kissed his cheek.

He was silent, her words meant a lot, he didn't want to wave it away with a patronizing word or gesture, he held her still tighter and she shivered and breathed heavily in his arms.

"Come over Tuesday," she said quietly and he let go of her and nodded.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: You've read chapter nine, you know the drill._

* * *

><p>"I won't be here when you get back tonight."<p>

"You going to Carrie's?" Tom asked as he pulled his hat on by the door.

The casual nature in which his grandson asked the question surprised him, Donald had left it to the last moment to tell him. Having heard the grown up response he didn't know why he'd left it so late, he'd been worried he might upset or confuse Tom but Tom was an adult and had more important things to worry about than where his grandfather was of an evening.

"Yeah," he told him, "she asked me."

"That's good." The younger man opened the door, "I reckon she must get lonely. Tell her I say hi."

"I will."

And with that Tom was gone. There had been no questions, no glances, no innuendos. He was just glad his grandfather had a friend, just as he was glad the spinster teacher had a friend. He was a good, kind person and in that moment his grandfather felt very proud of him.

Donald had worried about Carrie after Saturday had gone. He knew she had been sincere when she had told him that she had had a wonderful time spending the evening with his family but as she had said goodbye he had sensed such sadness in her. Her need to be close to him had been severe for one who was stone cold sober. In his mind he had brushed away her flirting the week before as result of the wine and the wine only, but the fact that when she was sober she was so much more intense, much less casual, made him wonder what she actually needed from their friendship.

* * *

><p>Carrie opened her door to him. It was only five thirty, she'd been back from work for about an hour and gone straight into her school prep, she'd got her books marked and graded before he arrived.<p>

"Hi," she looked up at him, kissed his cheek as he bent down to kiss hers.

"Hi, Carrie," he said back, "sorry if I'm too early, I- I wasn't sure when to arrive," she closed her door behind him, swept the curtain closed after it.

"You're not too early," she said softly. "Donald," she said his name seriously as they stood in the dark hallway at the foot of the stairs, he looked down at her. She was very serious and so he didn't smile, just looked back. "Donald," she said his name more quietly, "Thank you for the other night, I wanted to tell you- I want you to know how much I admire you," she whispered, "Your attitude to life, your love for your family, the kindness you have shown me," she looked up at him.

"Carrie, don't be stupid," he said quietly back and he even managed a nervous laugh, "you don't need to say anything like that to me."

"Yes," she closed her eyes and shook her head, "yes I do," she stressed.

"Sweetheart, don't get romantic," he said quietly and she opened her eyes in shock and looked up at him, he smiled, he was kidding, she smiled back and breathed out in relief.

"Shut up," she whispered and she grinned and put her hand out and pushed him a little. Her hand lingered on his arm and she moved closer and put her arms up and around him, she closed her eyes and held onto him, pressing her face against his shoulder. Donald held her gently, enveloped her in his arms. "It's not romance, it's fact," she whispered against his shirt.

"I'll do whatever you ask, Carrie, whatever you need. You say and I'll jump." He told her gently and she shivered in his arms, "even if you just want me to put up wallpaper or catch a spider," he assured her and he squeezed her reassuringly.

"I don't want those things," she took her head away from his shoulder and looked up at him, "I want you to come upstairs."

"That's fine too," he told the serious woman.

* * *

><p>They were silent up the stairs, silent in her bedroom, the room she'd grown up in, slept in for forty years. They were silent in the darkness as they took of their clothes and held each other, kissed and touched one another. And they were silent as they made love.<p>

It was not the silly play of ten days previous, they did not laugh or smile, it was a serious and passionate act. Carrie clung to him, dug her fingers into him, held her face close to his, her nose and her mouth brushing against him as they lay pressed together. She sighed and shivered and twitched when he went down, held his hands, touched his face and afterwards she moved steadily, strongly beneath him as he crushed her, hid her from the world.

Donald had never seen sex as something that should be taken too seriously, it was not poetry or art, it was just two people being together. But his sparring partner had been so serious in expressing her affection, she'd been so serious and quiet as she had kissed and held him by her bed that he felt that his usual tone-lightening behavior would be seen as an insult and so he followed her lead and he was serious and silent and strong as she seemed to want him to be.

She had told him lots of times now how she admired him, she liked him, he knew that, yet everything about him had been embodied in the way he had been with her the first time; he had been kind, gentle, generous and sort of silly. Throughout their serious and silent love making he was still generous, still kind, but she pushed and held him hard as she stared into him, she did not want silly and she did not seem to want gentle either.

"Is it ok, honey?" he asked her as she held onto him.

"Yes," she whispered back against his face, he was being harder, rougher with her and she knew it was just for her, "It's good."

"It's what you want?" He wasn't sure, her red face was too serious for him to tell.

"Yes," she whispered, "yes."

Donald kissed her hot neck and her cheek as she sighed and breathed beneath him. He was glad he was still fit, still able to give her what she wanted, he moved harder for her and looked down at her face, her look was almost pained, sad, as she tensed and held him tighter.

* * *

><p>"Donald," Carrie whispered his name. She felt her heart beat hard in her chest as she dared speak. They had been practically silent all evening. The sex had finished fifteen minutes earlier and since then they had been even more silent. They had climbed beneath her blankets and the school teacher had rested her head on the old man's chest, she had listened to his heart slow to normal, listened to him recover his breathing and she had held onto him, her arms around him while he had gently held her, and still both had been silent.<p>

"You ok, Carrie?" he replied, she felt his voice against her face as it rumbled from inside his chest.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Donald," she said his name again, "I'm sorry that wasn't as much fun as last time. Sorry I'm not much fun," she specified quietly.

"You're lots of fun," he said gently and he squeezed her shoulder, "I- I thought you wanted it like that," he tried quietly.

"I did, I did." She assured him and she moved from his side, took her face from his shoulder and sat up a little in her bed, she looked down at him, "I needed it like that," she promised, "thank you. I- I've been feeling really strange lately," she admitted and her face flushed red. "It- it's probably just hormonal," she shrugged a small shrug. She looked down at him and she smiled, "You ever been with a menopausal woman before?"

He smiled back at her. "Course I have," he answered gently and she smiled at him still. Carrie put her arms around him, pressed her body on top of him and he embraced her and kissed her as she kissed him. She smiled at his lips and looked down at him and giggled, he smiled back and put his hand up on her face and brushed her thick blonde hair from her eyes. "You're never menopausal," he told her, "you pert little thing," she closed her eyes and laughed, he smiled and enjoyed seeing the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle as she grinned, she was a very beautiful woman. Her face was aging well, a youthful, smiling face, the few lines she had smiled and complimented her and Donald was glad to see her smiling once more. If she truly was menopausal then he knew one benefit of a much older lover, if nothing else, he would make her feel younger.

"You make me laugh," she whispered down to him and her teeth still shone from between her lips, "I've never known anyone like you," she admitted without really thinking and her smile faded and she let go and moved from him. She sat up in the bed and looked down at her hands in her lap, she smiled sadly at them.

Donald slowly sat up too and waited silently for her to speak.

"I've been feeling sad," she admitted quietly, as if it were a terrible shameful secret. "Only this last week. Well, not really," she shook her head, "on and off, I guess, since before we were friends. I've been so happy since we- these last couple of weeks," she corrected, "I really look forward to seeing you, hanging out," she turned her head and looked up at him, she smiled, "last week when you were here, it was so much fun," he smiled down at her and she paused as she looked back.

He felt sorry for her.

She was lonely and she needed a proper partner, someone to sit and listen to her when she got back from work, someone just to be there. He knew she didn't want it, she said she didn't want it, but she wasn't suited to being alone.

"And the other day," she looked away from him again, "at your place, with the kids," her breath shook a little, "I had such a nice time on Saturday that on Sunday I- I couldn't even get up. I felt _so_ sad." She stressed. Donald reached for her and put a hand gently on her back.

"I've felt sad," she shrugged and tried to speak normally, go back to her casual tone, "just sad about nothing in particular, just days when I don't want to smile but- but, Donald, I've never felt it like _that_ before," she whispered in a scared voice. "I felt so happy being with you all! Listening to Murph so enthusiastic, so full of passion for her learning and Tom so strong and so happy," she looked round and smiled at him, "like you, like another you," she reached for him, he let go of her back and let her touch his face briefly then reach for his hands, she held them tightly. "And you did it all," she told him admirably, she smiled, she wanted him to know she wasn't sad, she was happy because of him. "I- it's not like I wish my family could have been like that or- or that my father had been like you," she shook her head as she held his hands, "I was happy, happy even just being an outsider looking in on you guys…"

Donald let her hold his hands and looked down at her. He wondered what he should say to comfort her. What he could actually offer her.

It hadn't taken long for him to fall in love with her. She was kind and smart and funny, he'd known she was all those things years ago. And then to develop a friendship through letters, through jokes and riddles, it was nice, it was fun- the most fun he'd had with another person (who wasn't a part of his family) in years. He was a sap he knew it, to fall in love so easily, but he would have gone out of his way to protect her and to help her in any way he could, even before she had walked up to his bedroom.

He got it, she didn't need romance, she needed reassurance, she needed comfort. That evening's comfort had come in the form of a physical act of distraction, an all-engulfing sexual experience that had allowed her to disappear, to feel release and relief and to feel she was in his hands only and she existed nowhere else… As much as he would have liked to, realistically he could not offer that sort of comfort indefinitely.

"You don't need to feel like that," Donald spoke.

She looked up in surprise and her face flushed pink, "I'm real sorry that it got you that bad, Carrie," he said gently, "but I won't let it get that way again."

She stared at him and her heart beat and her head swam in a sudden mild outrage at his stupidly heroic empty promise, "What can you_ possibly_ do?" she whispered, a low scared hiss.

He took one of his hands from hers and he touched her face affectionately again, stroked it gently, "I can promise to always be your buddy," he told her gently and her face softened in surprise, he stroked her hair behind her ears, "you don't need to get sad because we had _one_ nice day," he whispered, "you can be calm and sure that at least every week from now on we will have a day that is just as nice."

She nodded gratefully and she moved closer and hugged him.

"Yes," she agreed, "I would like that."

He held her and he stayed the strong calm cowboy she wanted him to be, he would not whisper words of love, the idea was tragic. He knew if the world was still living she would not look twice at him, she shouldn't have been with him at all, he knew that too. He could, at least for now, provide her with the sexual release her body cried out for but he would be her friend and her guardian primarily, because it was appropriate and he hoped it would put her mind at ease.

"You can talk to me about how you feel," he told her quietly, "It's ok, I promise I won't misconstrue it as romance." She laughed a little shakily in his arms, "you can trust me, Sweetheart." she sighed, this time in relief.

Carrie felt small and protected. It was primitive and something she'd never really experienced before, the need to feel safe in the strong arms of someone bigger than her, it was a great comfort.


	14. Chapter 14

She had never seen the general store look so deserted, but then she'd never been on a Tuesday evening. Apart from Donald and herself there was only one customer, a little old lady who was looking at the day's sorry looking left over muffins and slices of pie on the shop's counter.

"I always do my shopping on Saturday," she told him.

"I guess you'd have to," Donald picked up a small plastic tub of baking powder and put it in her basket, she looked down at it.

"I've got some at home," she insisted, "I would have brought it if you'd said!"

"You have baking _soda_," he corrected, "that wouldn't have worked. Besides it's been there a million years."

"I don't know, Donald, do I really need it? I mean, when's the next time I'll use it?" she took the container from her basket and looked up at him.

He smiled a little at her and shook his head, "You'll use it," he told her. "If we're going to be friends Carrie, we're going to do a lot of baking." She grinned at him. She'd argued almost everything he'd put in the basket saying she didn't need it, but he had insisted she get them.

"Now this we definitely need," he told her as he picked up the red box and handed it to her.

"No, no, Donald, it's the last box!" she put it back.

"They'll get more at the end of the week."

"What if they don't? I can't take all those raisins, I don't need them."

"Jesus, Carrie," Donald picked them up again, "give them out to the kids in your class if you feel so bad about it."

Carrie sighed and looked down at the box in her basket, she couldn't remember the last time she'd had raisins, California was in the same way they were, things were having trouble growing, the raisins in the box were freeze-dried, she wondered how long it had been since they had been grapes.

Donald had walked away but he came back to her and looked down, "I'm sorry I snapped," he apologized. "You being selfless shouldn't be reason for me to get angry, but I don't think it's selfish for us to buy these, especially as I know you'll share them."

She shrugged, "ok."

They walked to the checkout. The old lady had bought a muffin and gone on her way, they were the last ones in and it was nearing seven o'clock, closing time.

"Ok, Stan, this lady would like to pick up her sugar ration," Donald spoke to the mousey looking man behind the counter.

"Miss Hanley, you- you know you can only have two weeks, right?" he swallowed and looked at them both, "just because you haven't used it in a while doesn't mean it's waiting for you."

"I know," she said calmly and he relaxed a little but still looked at Donald as though he expected a fight.

"Two weeks is fine, it's still more than I'd ever need," she smiled.

Donald said nothing, he had argued plenty with the store about rations but lately with Murph gone most of the time but not_ all_ the time he'd been quiet about missing pick-up days and what his family was entitled to. He still used Murph's ration book and he collected three people's sugar, powdered milk and eggs each week, and when Murph came home she made appearances with him in the store and in the town to show face and not ruin his scheme.

Donald was an honest person but rationing had never been a fair system, he agreed that families and children should have more than single folk but he had written lots of letters in the past four years about the rationing rights of farm workers and other hard labourers, he believed his grandson should be given more of an allowance than a single man in an office. His grandson burned more energy working with his hands and his body in the outdoors, he worked hard so that others could have potatoes, okra and corn and not have to worry that _everything _was rationed. If certain people were expected to stay strong and healthy for the good of the country the rations should be appropriate.

Donald's letters hadn't led to much, countrywide there had been a small extra allowance on farm labourers' papers but it wasn't enough. With Murph's rations Donald could ensure his grandson was healthy and the farm would prosper.

The shopkeeper filled Carrie's old Tupperware box for her and she smiled in thanks and put her basket on the tabletop. "Do you want your eggs and milk too?" he asked her and she shook her head.

"No, I've hardly used them," she smiled, "I'll still be in on Saturday as usual."

"We're going to need oats," Donald told the man, breaking his silence, "I couldn't see any."

"Mr Clark, we don't have any, he haven't had any for almost three months, I'm sorry."

"I didn't hear anything on the line about oat shortages," Donald said in surprise.

"We have written," the man assured him, "I really hope there will be some soon."

"That's a shame," Donald shrugged and looked down at Carrie who looked unsure now about the whole lot. "Ok, ring it up, Stan," he told him and Carrie stayed silent and paid the forty two fifty for her groceries.

Food was expensive. She didn't resent paying for it, she could afford it, but she knew she didn't need such luxury items, buying the raisins had been pushed her further than she would have liked to go, but she stayed silent, she didn't want her friend to think she was a cheapskate. "Right, one more stop," Donald told her as they got into his truck.

"I thought we had everything," she put her seatbelt on and looked at the Tupperware boxes on the back seat, when he'd picked her up from her place they'd brought her egg and milk powders with them.

"We need oats," he told her as he started the engine.

"So what, we're going to knock on every door in town asking if anyone's got any? Donald, I'm sure they'll be fine without them. And- and I've got school tomorrow I can't play out late anyway," she tried and she grinned at him as he smiled back at her. She always called it that. He supposed that's because that's what it was. "Ok," he told her with a raised eyebrow and he pointed at the clock on the dash, "It's seven pm, give me until quarter past, then we give up and make cookies without oats." She looked at the clock and smiled and nodded in agreement.

They drove into town and Donald parked the truck on the sidewalk across the road from McKeller's bar, a quiet run-down sort of place in between a couple of closed stores. "I'll be back in five minutes," he told her.

"Can't I come too?" she asked with interest, "or are you going to get wasted?"

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically then he thought, "well, ok, I guess you can be trusted."

"Gee, thanks," her eyes widened as she rolled them and they got out of the truck and walked across the road to the bar.

The walked inside through the two sets of dirty doors, it was dark and warm and it smelled stale in there, there were two guys propped at opposite ends of the bar and a third sat in a booth on his own. It was not a busy night anywhere in town on a Tuesday.

"Hey, Donald," the young man at the bar spoke to him familiarly, casually but his eyes widened as he saw the woman. "Miss Hanley," said Johnny McKeller as he nearly dropped the glass he was polishing, "How- how are you, I mean, can I get you something?"

"You're ok, Johnny," Carrie declined and smiled at the flustered boy, twenty four years old, it had been eight years since he'd been a student of hers.

Donald walked to the bar and leaned over it to Johnny, "I know it's not much notice, John, but I told the lady I'd be help her with a baking project. It's for the school," he added.

"Sure, sure, whatever you need," Johnny said quietly but helpfully.

"Store's out of oats."

"Oats, sure thing. Hold on, I'll get Evie," he walked to the backdoor of his bar and called out to his sister. The girl came to the door and looked at him as he whispered to her. Evie craned her neck round into the room and with wide eyes stared at Carrie.

"Hey, Evie," Carrie smiled and spoke quietly.

"Hey, Miss Hanley," she said back automatically and she blushed crimson in the light coming from the backroom.

"You still working at the drugstore?"

"Just weekends and Fridays," she answered nervously and her brother shooed her away.

"She'll be a minute," Johnny told them and he smiled politely then poured Donald a courtesy half which he took and drank.

"Thanks," Donald told him and they stood quietly, Carrie stood with her hands in front of her and a smile fixed on her face as her eyes circled the room slowly. Donald stood and watched her with a different sort of smile as he held his beer glass but didn't drink any more than the first gulp.

After a couple of silent minutes, apart from the clunking of glass on wood from the silent man in the booth Evie returned with a brown bag in her hand and she whispered to her bother at the door, Johnny nodded and whispered back and then closed the door on her as she attempted a little wave to her former teacher.

"There's something else in there for you," Johnny told Donald as he handed him the bag, "no charge for Miss Hanley," he told him and he winked and smiled at the lady.

"Thank you, Johnny," Carrie spoke.

"Here, you take this," Donald told her, "put it in your purse," he handed her the paper bag and she did so without looking and without question, while she did so Donald turned back to the bartender and handed him a couple of twenties. "Don't be stupid, you deserve it," he told him and made him take the money.

* * *

><p>Carrie was silent to begin with in the truck as they drove to his place and so he was silent too but when they'd come out of the town and they were on the open road driving through the fields of corn he looked up at her expectantly. She smiled a wry sideways smile at him and shook her head. "Johnny McKeller," she said quietly, "he's your secret source?" she laughed a little. "And to think, I thought you were sophisticated."<p>

"I have never pretended to be sophisticated," he smiled and drove.

She giggled. "What's the racket? Evie picks up extras at the drugstore?"

Donald laughed a loud bark, "They respect you Miss Hanley and you give them no credit whatsoever!" he shook his head and laughed, "Evie's a good girl, Johnny's a bright boy. You should be proud of them."

"For dealing black market oats and tins of crabmeat?" she scoffed and she laughed, "be serious!"

They drove up to the farm and Donald stopped the truck and turned in his seat to look at her, she took her belt off and made to get out of the car. "Wait a second," he told her and she sat and looked at him. "Martin McKeller was a drunk, he died stupidly because he was stupid." Donald told her, "Lots of folk didn't like the idea of Johnny keeping that bar open, too many bad memories, and he was a bright kid, it would be a shame if he went the same way. Johnny doesn't drink, Evie neither. But there's a lot of folk out there like to drink, Johnny gets a lot of business in that bar."

"Yeah, great," Carrie said blankly, "what, he uses the money he makes out of alcoholics to buy oats?"

Donald shook his head and smiled, "You going to listen or are you just going to smart-mouth me?" She was silent but she grinned at him. "You don't use your sugar ration. How many people do you reckon are out there who don't use their sugar rations or their eggs or milk? How many drunks do you think would rather have cheap beer than sugar, eggs and milk? Beer in the store costs fifteen dollars a bottle, it's one of the things in this state we get cheap, but when you're an alcoholic fifteen bucks is not cheap enough. Johnny is able to sell a beer for eight dollars a bottle. Cheaper still if you're a regular and his sister only has to work three days a week yet they live pretty comfortably, how d'you think they manage that?"

Carrie screwed her face up. "He swaps winos drink for their food rations?"

"Sure that's how it started, but Johnny knows his stuff, these last four years with a little investment from people who are interested he's been able to get ahold of a lot of things that might not be available in stores."

"You want me to be proud that they're exploiting drunks?" she said bluntly.

"He runs a bar. Business is business," he said simply and he got out of the truck.

"Jeez, well, I'm glad my students have gone on to be such ruthless entrepreneurs," Carrie helped him get the Tupperware out of the truck and she carried it to the porch.

"I thought you'd like that story," he smiled as they entered the house, "those two are thriving and no one will ever report it because we all get something out of it. What did he put in the bag?" he asked her as she set the things down on the table, her purse included.

"I daren't look." She opened the brown paper bag and took out the contents; a small box of rolled oats and a tub of chocolate chips with a red Christmas ribbon on them. She looked down at the chocolate sadly. "Well, now I feel like a heel," she said quietly.

"Good."

She looked up at him in surprise and he smiled at her, she reached over and hit his arm. "I should have given them something," she said quietly, "they thought it was for the kids at school."

"Don't worry, honey, I gave them something."

She nodded and smiled up at him, "Do- do you think we've got enough ingredients to give a cookie to everyone?"

"How many kids in your class?"

"Thirty four."

Donald smiled, "we'll do them half the size. Should make forty that way."

* * *

><p>Tom opened the door to a heavenly smell, for a moment he wondered if Murph had returned midweek with another pie for them- a couple of weeks back she had brought home a real pie, made with real flour and apples and raisins, it had been wonderful. But he smiled seeing his grandfather and the schoolteacher baking kid-sized cookies.<p>

On their wooden table were two wire racks covered in miniature cookies, besides the satisfying sight of the cookies the table was a bit of a mess, mixing bowls and spoons littered the surface with minimal dustings of flour and sugar, they were at least being careful with that. Carrie was carefully spooning teaspoon sized balls of the mixture from a bowl onto a baking tray while his grandfather oversaw the operation.

"Hi, Tom," Carrie looked up and smiled at him.

"Evening, all," Tom smiled at them both and at all the cookies, "what's this, a factory? You two going into business?"

"If I could afford to go into this kind of business I would," Carrie laughed as she looked back at her duties.

"Carrie's learning how to bake," Donald told him as he walked to the sink to get a glass of water. Carrie looked up, put her tiny spoons down and walked to him, stopping him midway through his drink.

"Tom, no, no, you must have a glass of milk and a cookie."

The tall boy laughed and looked down at her, "I'm sure I can manage that," he smiled, "how big's my milk? Thimble sized?"

"Ha ha," Carrie said as she moved to the glass of milk already on the table and picked it up for him, "we are making these cookies for the children in my class. Exams finish soon. This is a little pre-vacation treat."

"That's really nice," Tom smiled.

"We thought that part up afterward," Donald told him as he took the glass and waited to be presented with a cookie, "We realized we probably wouldn't be able to eat forty cookies on our own."

"Speak for yourself," Tom said, "they smell amazing, Carrie," he told her politely as she handed him one, it was dwarfed in his large hand, she looked disappointed as they all looked at how small it was.

"Well, if you guys weren't so big," Carrie started quietly, but she looked up at him and smiled, "Tell us what you think," she grinned as Tom raised it to his mouth, he paused and looked at her.

"Am I the Guinea pig?" he asked suspiciously.

"We've both tried one," Carrie assured him and she moved away from him and back to her spooning so as not to crowd him.

Tom ate his cookie, it was good, they had done well. "How many do we get?"

Donald laughed and clapped him on the arm. Carrie smiled up from her work and answered, "We're aiming for having six left over, but you're in luck, we might have more."

"Excellent, I might just stay up a little longer then," Tom smiled and he moved into the lounge and sat down on one of the sofas with that week's newspaper. Donald smiled at Carrie and they resumed their baking.

It had been a couple of months since Carrie had become a regular guest, a sort of fixture in their weekly schedule. Donald had promised her after she'd had a sudden bout of sadness that he would be the emotional support she needed, be there for her through friendship if nothing else. Most days were like the evening they were spending at that moment, they laughed and did something silly together, they played games, ate meals together. If they were at his place more often than not his grandson was there too and he was included, it was like she'd become part of their family.

At her place they drank wine and they looked at photographs, they did crosswords together and enjoyed being quiet and calm, knowing they would not be disturbed they were more grown-up at hers. They did not make love often, it had only happened three more times since the second sad time, but all three since then had been much more fun. Carrie enjoyed it but she didn't feel she needed it all the time. What she needed was the crossword puzzles together as he sat beside her with his arm around her, the laughter and the buzz of conversation that filled her kitchen and the general warmth of his presence in her life.

Donald himself was enjoying this unexpected relationship, it made him happy to see the joy and the contentment on the young woman's face each time he saw her and shared something with her. He was no longer bored, even on his own he felt happy because he had plans for that week, no matter how mundane, he just didn't feel useless anymore. And it was a huge bonus that his grandson did not seem to find any of it unusual.

Tom was polite and open and welcoming. He seemed to have accepted Carrie's existence in his grandfather's life as though she was just a long-lost family member. Tom had always been a strong silent type, Murph was the talker, Murph had asked questions on her return visits, but Tom didn't ask anything. Donald assumed it was because his grandson knew and respected the situation, but perhaps he didn't ask because he didn't want to acknowledge it. Whichever, Donald was glad he'd raised him to be polite and accepting.


	15. Chapter 15

It was summer. Another weekend came and Murph stayed away, it seemed vacation was optional, the other children at the institute stayed there, the only difference for them was that their parents were there too, employees; scientists, engineers, thinkers. But Murph didn't worry about her family, every couple of weeks or so she saw them and they were good to her but it was depressing at home, it was dusty and dull and it was the same thing every day.

She was fourteen and though she knew she was hurting their feelings staying away she also knew she was a teenager and so she knew she could get away with it. She knew that they made allowances for her because being at home reminded her that her father was not there, she knew it was bad to use these things as a reason to stay away, but she couldn't help it.

* * *

><p>Tom looked down at his hand, he had two of a kind, but they weren't great; two fives. They'd been playing poker for forty minutes. Carrie had come over for dinner as she did most Fridays whether Murph was home or not, his grandfather had cooked and the three of them had had some beers and now they played cards.<p>

His grandfather had the most money in front of him, Tom suspected foul play, but as they were only playing for pennies he didn't raise the issue. Carrie usually did well at games, it must have been something about her teacher's mind, perhaps fifth grade math was worth something after all, but she wasn't so hot tonight.

When Murph had first gone off to study with the other children of NASA Tom hadn't been too bothered, he had work to do and he had his girlfriend to think about, his kid sister wasn't really one of his priorities. If he was frank he had been glad she was somewhere where he didn't have to worry about her, but now that she didn't come home that often- sometimes she spent two weekends in a row there and he didn't see her for three weeks at a time- now that it felt like she really was gone he had started to write little notes and cards to her.

His grandfather wrote a letter every week, sometimes two, and he had done since she had started there, even in those first months when she came home every weekend he still wrote and drew pictures for her. He'd write hellos and messages from Tom but they were never anything real or worthy.

Tom wrote to Murph not about the farm- he knew she didn't really want to know about that, but instead he tried to remind her that even though he was sometimes tired or cranky when she visited he was still her brother and he was still fun. He wrote little jokes and stories, the fun things he and Lois talked about, the silly rumors her family told him about people they knew and he wrote how he was glad she was expanding her mind, because he was glad.

He knew Murph was only a kid so the thing he really wanted to talk to someone about he didn't really touch on, not seriously anyway. He didn't really speak to Lois about it either because Lois told her family everything and Tom felt that if he started to speculate or even if he just mentioned it then it would become gossip, and he knew that the last thing a schoolteacher needed was gossip…

Carrie and his grandfather spent a lot of time together, the time they spent at the farm was just like the family time that Tom had been used to all his life, they had dinner, they chatted and laughed and sat and did crossword puzzles over a beer together. When Tom was there they did all those things with him and they asked him about his work and about Lois, Carrie was good to talk to when it came to Lois issues, Tom felt extremely grateful to have a woman to talk to about his love life, it didn't feel strange at all that she was there. It was a bit like his father had gone away but a sort of mother had come back.

But she wasn't like _his_ mom. Tom had been 12 when his mom died, eight years had gone by and so maybe Carrie _was_ like his mom, he wasn't sure. Because he was a child when she'd gone he couldn't imagine having conversations with her like the ones he had with Carrie. His mom had been soft and gentle, he remembered her as quiet and strong, like his grandfather in a way. Coop was the passionate one, telling them things, teaching them, playing games with them, mom had been the one to tuck them in at night, the one who brushed their hair and smiled and winked at them when their dad repeated himself.

Carrie was passionate and liked to talk and enthuse about the things Tom and Murph spoke about but she rarely spoke about things she was interested in if it hadn't been brought up by one of the others, she preferred to join the conversation rather than start it… but she did like to play games. She was kind of like a big kid when it came to cards or Snakes and Ladders, which seemed so weird considering Tom remembered her as a no nonsense sort of teacher. But there was definitely a soft side to her as well, she was very kind to his grandfather, she was kind to all of them, she liked to listen, you could tell from the look on her face as she listened to all of them that she wanted to be there and to hear it all, Tom wasn't sure he knew many people like that. It was that reason that it felt good to talk to her about Lois, even when she didn't offer concrete advice she always smiled kindly as she listened to his questions and his problems. Tom sometimes felt more comfortable talking to her about his relationship than he did to his grandfather.

So she was his mother and his friend in their house but what was she in her house? When his grandfather spent time at her place did they really just sit and talk, play games and bake cookies? When they were private did they talk quietly, secretly to each other about their feelings? Did they kiss and hold onto each other? Tom couldn't be sure of any of it. They were close and they were comfortable with each other, he could see that, but it was a friendship, a mutual respect. When Carrie looked at his grandfather it was not with the sort of grudging or patient respect a young woman had for an old man, it was as though he were her equal, her friend since childhood and when he looked at her and spoke to her it was the way he spoke to all of them, he didn't idolize her or put her on a pedestal like a foolish old man worshipping a young woman, she was just one of them; a person he cared for.

Tom did not write to Murph about it and he didn't speak to Lois about it either. He knew Murph was too young and she would worry that it would change her family and he knew Lois just wouldn't get it.

The farm had once belonged to his great uncle's, his grandfather's younger brother. Uncle Michael had, in an age of technology, bought a farm and worked the land with his hands. The man was old fashioned, a traditionalist and because of it he was the reason they all lived so well despite the way things were. Tom often thought about his great uncle, he'd never met him but he had been told by his mom and by his grandfather that he was like him. Tom was old fashioned too. The thing was that most people were old fashioned, they didn't really have a choice not to be. Kids got married young, they worked on farms, they raised kids, sent them to the local school and then the kids got married and worked on farms. Tom knew he would marry Lois. He hadn't asked her yet, but they had talked about it and it was what they both wanted, he would ask her when she turned eighteen, that was, to him, a reasonable age. Her family was old fashioned, they were traditionalists and they had religion- something most families seemed to have though Tom's didn't. Tom respected it and he knew he would raise his children to be Christians like Lois' family, they just seemed so much happier, so much more secure having faith. He didn't just respect Lois's religion, he envied it, he wanted it but he didn't feel like he could talk to his grandfather or even to Carrie about his religious issue, he knew how they both felt, well, he knew how his grandfather felt and he assumed Carrie was the same.

Lois's religion, her family's policy of openness and honesty, despite it all being exactly what Tom wanted to prove he was capable of, it was the reason he didn't talk to his girlfriend about his home situation. He knew it was an odd situation, which was why he couldn't talk about it, but he also could see that there was nothing wrong with it. It was fine because he was there and he saw how they were, that they were like family, just without actually being family, without being anything. It was because he couldn't label it or explain it simply that he didn't tell Lois about it. He had told Lois that his grandfather was friends with their old schoolteacher and that was all, when Lois came to the farm and his grandfather wasn't there it was because he was with his friends. Tom had not yet told her that Carrie was his grandfather's only friend.

As much as Lois came to the farm when his grandfather was there she had never come over when Carrie was there too, and this relationship, whatever it was had been going on for nearly four months. Carrie asked after Lois all the time and told him she'd love to see her but Tom hadn't let their paths cross, he wondered how much longer it would be before his grandfather made it otherwise. When that happened there would be questions and not just from Lois.

* * *

><p>Donald was thirty two cents up on his original twenty, he shuffled the cards on the table and persuaded them to play one more hand, just so he could finish them off, Tom wanted to call it a night, he was tired and he was nearly penniless, Carrie had agreed but not with her usual zeal. Her beer was empty but she declined another, choosing instead to fetch herself a glass of water.<p>

"Tom, remember when we taught Murph how to play? That kid's got some brain on her, she got the math of it straight away, working out the odds while me and your dad were still counting out the pennies."

Tom smiled and drank his beer, it was only recently that he'd been allowed to sit and drink with them, that was Carrie's doing and he as grateful for it, it was hot outside and even though he didn't feel uncomfortable with the two friends he certainly felt more comfortable after a beer. He watched his grandfather twist and fan the cards as he shuffled them, he didn't do it just to mix up the cards, he did it so it was a treat to watch. At the sink Carrie drank her water, Tom looked up at her from the mesmerizing dance of cards and suddenly wasn't sure how to react… She had been standing at the sink with a glass of water looking down at his grandfather, smiling and listening to him telling them both one of his stories. One that Tom had heard lots of times but perhaps one the schoolteacher had not heard before. And while he spoke suddenly the woman's face had faltered and she raised her hand to her eyes and she wept.

Donald had been speaking down to his hands, to the pack of cards he shuffled but Tom had been watching both of them, when Carrie started to cry Tom stood up automatically but he did not go to her as he would have done if it had been his girlfriend or his sister or even his mom, for a split-second he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do and his eyes went from the quiet woman to his grandfather who looked up at him and then round at their guest.

"Carrie," the old man said her name softly in concern and he stood, dropping the cards on the table and taking her glass from her hand and putting his arms around her.

Tom watched silently, only the table between them and he suddenly felt he was witnessing something very private. His grandfather only held her arms gently but he stood close and looked down at her with such devotion that Tom was certain in that moment that their relationship was not merely platonic no matter how they tried to pass it off that way.

"God, I'm so sorry," she whispered and she took her hand away and smiled through her tears, she looked back at him and then up at Tom, Donald still held her arms but he straightened a little and took a small step away from her.

"You, ok, Carrie?" Tom tried quietly from where he stood and she smiled and nodded at him.

"I'm ok," she said and she looked up at Donald, "I am. I'm ok," she assured him and he took his hands from her.

"I'll put the kettle on," Tom suggested and he walked around the table, the long way, to the stove and faced the kettle rather than look at them.

"What's the matter?" Donald asked her gently, quietly at the sink.

"I- I got a letter," she told him, there was no point whispering and pretending Tom wasn't in the room. "I got a letter from my aunt this morning," she told them both as she moved and sat back down at the table. "My mom's sick," she swallowed and there was a pause. "I'm sorry, you guys, I should have told you- or, or I shouldn't have come over," she shook her head. Donald sat down next to her.

"Don't be sorry," Tom brought three mugs from the cupboards and set them down in front of the others, "we don't mind, do we?" his grandfather looked at him and then back down at Carrie by his side.

"Not a bit," he said softly and he touched her hand on the table.

"She's always had weak lungs," Carrie said quietly, "I- I'm not surprised. I mean- I mean_ it's _not a surprise, I guess I've been waiting for the letter since she moved away." She shook her head again and took her hand out of Donald's as she raised her hands to her face, "Jesus, I'm such a shitty daughter. I haven't even been to see her since last summer!" she looked up, "sorry, Tom," she apologized for her language. The kettle whistled and Tom tried his best to smile kindly and wave it aside, he looked away and took the kettle from the stove and poured the water into the waiting teapot.

"You're not a shitty daughter," Donald said gently, "you write every week. Long letters. The weather was too difficult last Christmas, it's only just summer vacation, go visit her, go tomorrow," he tried.

She nodded, "yes, yeah, I will."

Tom listened to the silence behind him as the tea stewed in the pot, he felt anxious and wondered why his grandfather wasn't speaking. Carrie had been scared to tell them because she'd thought it would ruin their evening, but he remembered what it was like when his own mom was dying, he hadn't wanted to mention it either, hadn't wanted to ask for anyone's help. He brought the tea to the table and sat down with them, he poured and then spoke, the beer he'd had was all the Dutch courage he needed, "Grandpa, why- why don't you drive, Carrie tomorrow. Go with her, I mean," he tried, "It's North Kansas, right?" he looked to their guest.

"Greeley," Carrie nodded and spoke quietly.

"That's what, four, five hours drive?"

"Yeah," she said quietly, "but, but no, it's ok, I- I should go on my own."

There was silence as Carrie looked down at her tea, poured the milk in and stirred it, Tom looked up at his grandfather and flashed his eyes at him.

"Carrie, do you want me to drive you?" Donald looked at her unsurely and she looked back up at him, there was a moment's pause before she spoke.

"Donald, I- I wanted to ask you, but it's such a big ask," she admitted.

"I wouldn't want to drive that long on my own either," Tom said before his grandfather could reply.

"Honey, it's not a big ask, not at all," he said gently, "Tom's right, it's a hard drive, especially if- if you're upset," he tried and he reached for her hand again, she took it in both of hers.

She smiled gratefully, sadly at him then she looked at Tom on her other side, let go of Donald and reached and touched the young man's arm, "thank you," she said quietly, she smiled at him, "I'm an idiot for not asking for help, if you ever need anything, or if- if Lois does, just ask me, ok, Tom?" he nodded and drank his tea.

* * *

><p>Donald came back into the house and looked at his grandson, the boy was standing at the sink, washing the cups, not looking up at him. Carrie had driven off calmly, Donald had promised her he'd come by in the morning with his truck and provisions, he'd told her not to worry and to try and get a good night's sleep. She had been ok.<p>

"Tom," Donald said his grandson's name calmly, but he didn't feel calm.

Tom looked up at him from the sink but did not take his hands from the soapy water, he felt 12 again, he felt like he'd stuck his nose in where it wasn't welcome and worse than all of that, he felt sober.

"Thanks," Donald said quietly, "for seeing what she needed, when I couldn't. I must have drunk too much."

Tom stared and his grandfather moved to the sink and picked up the tea towel and one of the mugs from the rack.

"Grandpa," Tom felt his courage return but he spoke softly, "you can tell me to go hang," he said as his grandfather placed the mugs onto the table behind them as he dried them, one at a time. "What- you and Carrie," Tom said with difficulty, "what is it?" he asked, "What are you?"

Donald didn't look at his twenty year-old grandson, he looked at the mugs and the plates he was drying, it was stupid to think he wouldn't need to acknowledge it. Tom had gone along with it without question for months, pretended it was just a friendship to avoid questioning it, but he knew it was because the boy didn't like conflict, and he didn't either. "I don't know if there's a word for it," Donald replied honestly, "she doesn't want a boyfriend, I'm too old to have a girlfriend, but she needs support, emotional support, like everyone does, so that's what I give her."

Tom was quiet for a moment and considered the answer. It wasn't what he'd been expecting. His grandfather was an honest man, he knew he'd either tell him to mind his own business or he'd tell him straight, the straight answer seemed much more complicated than he was letting on.

"Don't- don't you want anything in return?"

Donald looked up at him, "I think she'd give me the same, if I needed it," he added, "but I've always had it from you and from Murph, even if you didn't know you were giving it." He smiled kindly at the boy, "she gives me companionship," he told him, "when you're old that's worth more than you can imagine."

"I- I do get it," Tom told him, "like, I can see it works. But it's kind of weird, she gets much more out of it than you. She gets security, a family, like, a dad or something and you get what, more commitments, more worries? but you're ok with that?"

Donald didn't look up, he shrugged, "I'm a feeder, a carer, you know that," he put the cloth down and turned away from the boy, looking down at the table, "when you care for someone you get something out of just knowing that person feels safe."

"I'm not judging you," Tom promised, "I'm- I'm all for it, Grandpa, you're happy with her here. I mean, it's not like you ever seemed _un_happy," he admitted, "but it's obvious, it's obvious the relationship works, whatever it is. I'm sorry for, you know, for getting involved in it tonight, it's just, well I could see she wanted to ask you."

"No, I'm glad you did," Donald touched his arm, "I really am," he said honestly.

"I don't care what you call it," Tom promised. "I can see she's happy here too, adopted, integrated, whatever. She loves you, you love her. You're partners," Tom pointed out, "whether you want to call it that or not, you are."

Donald looked back at his grandson gratefully and he touched his shoulder, squeezed it a little. "Thanks, Tom," he said honestly, "I- it's not a regular thing, I know, and- and I'm sorry, that it puts you in an awkward position."

"I'm not- it doesn't," Tom shook his head.

"With Lois," he clarified, "with the Dixons." Tom looked up. Donald smiled, "she's a great girl," he said quietly and he picked up a fork from the rack and dried it, "sweet, kind… but her family, they've always been kind of nuts," he laughed a little, "nuts is harsh," he changed his mind as he dried the cutlery and didn't look at the boy, "traditional." He settled on a better word and looked up, "I'm sorry I'm not traditional," he smiled a wry smile, "you tell Lois about me and Carrie?" he asked.

Tom shook his head. "I- well, she knows you're friends," he admitted, "but no. Nothing more than that. I don't really- I mean, I don't know how I would explain it."

Donald raised his eyebrows as he looked down at the knives and forks, "well," he said quietly, "the good thing about folk like the Dixons is that being so traditional it might never cross anyone's minds that we weren't just friends… People got away with a lot more than _unconventionality_ back when everyone was as traditional as them, if you know what I mean."

Tom took his hands out of the bowl of water and wiped them on his jeans. "Grandpa," he spoke seriously and Donald looked up in surprise. "Look," Tom said bravely but he felt his face redden, "I told you I get it, that I'm fine with it, but, but you can't just call Lois's family idiots or nuts or whatever!" he said a little angrily. "It _has_ made it hard for me," he changed his mind and shook his head, "not you or- or not Carrie, you're both really supportive but, but you can't just apologise for making it difficult then wave it away with a load of jokes!

"I tell Lois everything, she tells me everything, but it's been harder to do that since Carrie started coming here. Again," he stressed, "I don't resent her, I don't dislike the fact that she's here, I really do like it," he promised, "but because Lois and her family are so honest with each other, I feel like they'd want to know what was going on. And if I can't explain it to _her_ how's she supposed to explain it to _them_?"

There was a silent pause and Donald swallowed. It had all been going so well, they'd almost got back to the point where they never had to acknowledge it again. He looked at his grandson, "tell her what we just said," he tried, "why change it? I don't care what they think of me."

Tom laughed which startled him and he shook his head. "Grandpa," he said quietly, "how much did you drink tonight?" he said it affectionately but he didn't smile when he looked at him. "She's a schoolteacher," he said it plainly, "Without a proper explanation they'd make up their own minds about her and the gossip would ruin her."

Donald stared in amazement and he felt his eyebrows climb up his face in astonishment at such a stupid prospect. "A spinster schoolteacher forms an emotional relationship with an old man and that's cause for concern in what fucking universe, Tom?" he said in amazement and he laughed but his grandson didn't. He just looked back at him and was uncomfortable that his grandfather would make light of the situation. "Jesus, if she was having sex with a former student or if she was stealing school funds or faking exam results, those are things that could ruin a teacher!" he shook his head in disbelief and felt angry for the first time in years. He held his hand out and looked at his silent grandson, "and you tell me these people _aren't _idiots?!" he said in disbelief.

"Things have changed!" Tom said firmly.

"Fuck, I didn't know they'd changed this much," Donald shook his head.

"People in this town are Christians, they don't understand," he tried firmly.

"Oh, so, I guess I should move to New York, except I cant, because it's not there any more."

"Grandpa, stop it!" Tom said angrily, "Just because I get it doesn't mean it isn't weird! It _is _weird. You can't pretend it's not. I can't pretend it's not."

Donald shook his head, he wanted to continue to argue but he never argued with Tom, he'd never had to argue before and he knew why, he'd never been wrong before. He was angry with himself, not with Tom. It _was _weird. Not just their age difference, the whole relationship was weird. How the hell was Tom supposed to explain it if he couldn't even do it himself, it wasn't fair that his grandson had that on his plate.

"Jesus, Tom, I'm sorry," he said quietly and he shook his head.

"It's fine," Tom said quickly but he looked up at the old man's face, it had softened, slumped slightly, as though reality had come crashing down on him like a bad hangover. Tom put his hands up on his grandpa's shoulders, he held them and looked at him, "You're not my dad, I'm not a kid. We're all grown-ups. You're right, this shouldn't be difficult, but we can't help who we fall in love with. Whether it's a girl with a nutso religious family," he joked quietly, "or an emotional cripple, or whatever Carrie is," he tried.

Donald smiled and shook his head. "Yeah, we sure can pick 'em," he agreed quietly.

"The good thing is though," Tom smiled and let go of the old man, "they're both nice."


	16. Chapter 16

Donald put Carrie's bags on the backseat of the truck while she spoke quietly to her aunt, her cousins and their children. He had arrived that morning in time for the funeral, they had buried Mrs Hanley in a family plot near to relatives Donald had never heard Carrie mention, the woman had been buried with her late husband's ashes and now Donald had come to take Carrie away from her family.

He'd delivered her a week earlier, she'd taken a small suitcase with her, Donald had suspected she might stay a while and so he'd told her in the car that morning that all she need do was write and he'd come and get her. The drive there a week ago had been tense, Carrie hadn't spoken much and Donald hadn't known what to offer by way of reassurance, he'd felt it best to just drive. When they'd got there the atmosphere hadn't lifted and he had had a small, quiet and tense lunch with Carrie and her aunt. He had not gone upstairs with his friend to see her mother- she was weak, drifting in and out of consciousness and so confined to her bedroom, Donald knew his being there would not help, so after lunch when Carrie had gone upstairs a second time he had sat downstairs in the dark and dusty parlor and waited a half hour before Carrie returned and told him he should leave. He left obediently and without questioning her, as much as he wanted to shield her from any hurt he knew it was out of his hands on this occasion.

She had not looked at him while they had been there that first day and she had not looked at him directly since he had arrived. He did not take offense, he knew from watching her at her mother's funeral that she was doing everything she could to keep herself together, if she burst she wouldn't burst until they were alone, until she was out of sight and he would be ready for it. He would be kind and reassure her she had done everything she could and he would hold onto her, it was all he could do.

Despite being calm and strong Donald had been forced to think about things that week on his own, after speaking to Tom he had thought about the relationship and how he would continue as long as Carrie wanted to. But that wasn't the issue that had forced itself into his head. That had always been the plan... He thought hard about the real life issue that morning at the funeral. The woman they were burying was younger than him. It was all very well saying that Mrs Hanley had always been sickly and inactive and that Donald had always been fit and well, but the reality of the situation was that he was seventy, Carrie still wasn't forty. Who would be there for her if he suddenly declined?

"I'll write," he heard Carrie tell the children in her softest voice, "it was nice to get to know you." She had said her goodbyes and kissed her relatives. Donald hadn't heard her tell her aunt or her cousins she'd write or keep in touch with them, but she had a soft spot for children and evidently found it easier to talk to them. He watched her approach the truck, and he got into the driver's seat and waited for her, he had said his quiet goodbyes and condolences earlier, it wasn't important, they didn't know or care who he was, he was just the driver, the good Samaritan. She wound down the window and waved a small wave to the obliviously happy children as they drove away.

Before the planet's deterioration had begun Kansas had already been known for its ghost towns, deserted dead places from a hundred years past, these towns had mainly been in the west, but now it seemed like most places were dead. Greeley was no exception, it was a dry and dusty town, if Donald hadn't known there were people there he would have assumed it was another empty shell like so many others they'd driven through to get there. They drove in silence with the windows rolled back up, shutting out the outside and other people's lives, the town was soon behind them and they travelled the empty roads with their thoughts.

Donald did not want to break the silence and be the one who made her cry by telling her she was brave or strong or good or anything, he may have been big and strong but he still didn't like conflict or upset. He remembered feeling useless forty odd years previously when Rachel's parents had died. His folks had been old when they'd had him, they had died peacefully years previously without knowing what was to happen to the people they left behind. Rachel's parents had died unexpectedly in a horrible and devastating flood, taking their house, all her childhood mementoes, her possessions and her memories with them. He'd been thirty one, but had felt much younger, he hadn't known what to say to the pregnant girl to make her feel safe or happy again, telling her he loved her and he would look after her had not done anything for Rachel and he knew it would do nothing for Carrie either.

"Murph came home for a couple of days," he broke the silence, "she made you a card," he told her quietly and he swallowed as he focused on the empty road ahead of him rather than look down.

"That's sweet," Carrie whispered as she looked out of the window and did not look up at him.

"It's in the dash," he reached over and unclicked the glove compartment on her side, Carrie looked down and took out the card, she smiled at it sadly. Murph had made the card from pressed flowers that must have been fifty years old, they were bright purple with green leaves, the teenager had painted them carefully, restoring colour to their dull petals and leaves.

_'__Dear Carrie, We are all thinking of you. Hope to see you soon, love Murph.'_

"It's lovely," she said quietly and she put it back and then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and held in her feelings.

"She wouldn't let Tom sign it," Donald told her and Carrie laughed a little and sniffed again, "told him to make his own."

"I'll have to write and thank her," Carrie said quietly.

Donald was quiet again and they both sat in silence for a good forty minutes of the drive. Donald wondered just how much talking Carrie had had to do with all her extended relations, she seemed exhausted and content not to talk. At least, he hoped that's what it was, and that Tom hadn't been right in calling her an emotional cripple.

A couple of silent hours had past since they'd left Greeley, and despite it being a midsummer afternoon the sky began to get darker, it happened rather gradually and neither of them noticed until the cloud was very close behind them. It had been a long time since Donald had driven out of town, the dust storms that hit them back home were bad but the house was sturdy and the surrounding farmland with its tall crops was a kind of cushion. In the town the roads were protected by blocks of buildings, so when they were out in the truck it never felt terribly exposed. Out on the open road though, with nothing in the empty fields around them, no hills and the trees on either side of the road that had once been there to shield drivers from harsh winds now just a handful of bare white sticks, the cloud was harsher, more dangerous. It was why no one travelled. They'd been hit twice the week before, but both times they'd been driving into it so they'd seen with time. With no one on the roads Donald hadn't checked his mirror for some time.

He pulled over and parked up. The road was littered with thin branches, if there had been a living town nearby the roads would be clear, dry wood was always in demand, someone would have picked it up.

Carrie opened the glove compartment once more and handed Donald the mask and goggles that were underneath the pressed flowers. "Looks like it might hit pretty hard," Donald said quietly as he looked over his shoulder through the back window and at the empty road.

"The truck's a good shape," Carrie said quietly, there was no way to know at what wind speed the dust would hit them and whether they'd be ok, but she was on automatic, optimistic in the face of danger out of habit, she would never tell a student if she felt they were in trouble, she would smile and lie.

"We're weighed down too," Donald said equally pointlessly, he was like her, talked the talk, walked the walk but inside he had no idea. They put their masks on and seconds later the cloud hit them loudly, powerfully, the truck jolted momentarily but it seemed only marginally worse than what they were used to. However, when the first bit of something, whatever it was, hit the roof Carrie jumped a little and her breathing changed. Dust was usually just dust, but this storm cloud came with extras, the bits of dead wood on the road from the last of the trees were being thrown up by the cloud, they hit the truck hard, the sound was like colossal hail stones throwing themselves at every window from every angle. The noise and the reverberation through the truck continued for what seemed like a stupidly long amount of time, Carrie's breathing became more and more rapid as the debris continued to clatter and clunk onto the roof and the backdoor. Donald knew that rapid breathing when the air was thick with grime was not an option so he controlled his fear as he had done for the past forty years, but even in the noise from outside he could hear Carrie's panic, out of the corner of his eye Donald had seen her body tense with each new noise that hit the truck, he reached and held her hand in her lap, there was no point talking, there was not enough air and they were both behind their masks. She held his hand tightly in both of hers and did not let go until the cloud passed.

Donald knew it wasn't just the dust that was fully responsible for her shaking and her ragged breathing, no matter how terrifying it was nothing could be more draining than what she had been through in the last week. She would tell him about it, he knew she would, but she was physically and emotionally exhausted, he would take her home, she would sleep and she would talk to him the next day.

After it had passed Carrie let go of him, he returned his hand silently to his lap to wait it out, it would take more than ten minutes for this dirt to settle, but Carrie took off her goggles and mask then unclipped the seatbelt. Donald pulled his own mask and goggles off, "Honey, don't," he said quickly and he reached for her and held her arm tightly before she could open the passenger door.

Carrie looked up at him, her eyes were tinged red from tears and her nose was pink, she had been crying beneath her mask but now she smiled sadly at him and she shook her head. "I- I wasn't going to," she managed to say and her smile faltered as she looked up at his face, the concern that she hadn't seen for a week but what seemed like years. She breathed painfully and she moved towards him and put her arms around him, he held onto her. He'd thought she was going to open the door and walk out into the dust filled air, to breathe it in and kill herself slowly… But she had taken her belt off so she could reach across the divide and embrace him.

Donald held her gently, as best he could, he wished the gearstick and the raised glove box between them wasn't there so he could comfort her properly. He put his hand on her face, "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he said softly as he brushed her hair around her ear. He left it at that, he couldn't think of any lies to tell her that would help in the situation.

"It's ok," she whispered back, he let go of her a little and she put her own hand up on his face affectionately, and she smiled a small smile as she traced her fingers over an eyebrow, her fingers were feather light on him and she didn't look into his eyes, only at the details of his kind, concerned face, "l- I'm just glad it's over now." He nodded and his face moved beneath her fingers, she looked down at the eyes of the old man, sometimes green, sometimes amber, she moved her face to his and kissed him. She kissed him deeply, holding him as tightly as she could while reaching across the car to him, she kissed gratefully for all he'd done and breathlessly simply because they were alive. Donald kissed back and held onto her arms as they held onto him, he was glad that her sadness had not taken her over, he was relieved she had not been going to do what he had suddenly feared, and in a small way he wasn't completely surprised at her behavior. It was human nature, the need to be close to someone living after a funeral. "Thank you," she breathed shakily at his face, "for coming to get me, and- and for taking me," she let go of him a little and Donald was able to take of his own seatbelt for comfort, she smiled and blushed as he looked up at her and they held hands across the raised glove-box in the central divide of the truck.

"Were you ok, without a car?"

She smiled, grateful for his mundane questions. She nodded, "they had an old station wagon in the garage, I went out in it a couple of times to pick some things up, but I didn't really need to leave," she said softly, "Jemima and Russell, my cousins, they look after both of them, _looked after_," she corrected, "my aunt's kids," she explained quietly and pointlessly.

Donald held her hands softly, rubbed his thumbs gently over the backs of her small hands, "We'll get you home," he said gently, "And you get some sleep." She nodded again and she swallowed and he looked up at her. Her face broke a little and she cried quietly, looking down at the armrest between them, their hands still resting on it.

"I'm so, I just feel so tired," she whispered as she let go of his hands and wiped her eyes. She tried to steady her breathing and she choked a little. She took his handkerchief and dried her eyes with it, clearing her throat too. She shook her head, "it was awful," she admitted in a quiet voice, "All these people looking at me everyday as though- as though I'd deserted her… Donald, I- I never wanted her to leave in the first place," she looked up at him pleadingly and covered her eyes and cried still. "And those kids in that awful place," she shook and wept, "why did she go away?" she whispered painfully.

"Sweetheart," he reached across the lumpy armrest, shifted, knelt a little in his seat and reached for her arms, "don't, don't be upset by them, your mom didn't feel that way," he assured her, "I'm so sorry she left you, but it wasn't your fault it wasn't because of you," he told her firmly as he held her arms, stroked them gently.

"I know," she whispered as she looked up at him, "I know," she nodded, "it- it's so stupid getting worked up about it," she shook her head, "but, but I can't help it," her voice shuddered, "I lived with her, with mom and dad my whole life," she stressed painfully, "I- I did feel angry with her for leaving," she whispered and he listened sympathetically, "but, but I couldn't have gone with her and- and she never even asked me to," she swallowed and tried to steady her breathing.

"You wrote, you visited," he told her gently, "you can't pick your parents," he smiled a little, briefly, he touched her face, "but you do learn from them, even if it's just learning what not to do."

"If- if something happened to you, I- I'd be there, for Murph, for Tom, if they wanted anything, needed anything at all," she stressed painfully, he was startled by this, but before he could think of how to react, she moved up in her seat too, put her arms around him. He held her tightly. Though her words had stung with the reality they did not speak he was grateful for them. "But nothing is going to happen," she stressed, a promise, not a request or a plea, a firm statement.

* * *

><p>It was half past seven that evening when they eventually arrived back at her door. They had had to make a few stops thanks to the weather and throughout they made small insignificant talk and had not spoken so seriously again since the first storm. Carrie had slept in the car, her exhaustion becoming too much for her after her emotions had come bursting out of her. The journey had not been too hard, just long and tiring. They'd eaten the sandwiches and the last of the box of raisins that he had brought with him, he'd packed them in the car at four that morning, the drive there had been a painless and methodical five and a half hours, coming back hadn't been so easy, all in all it had been a very long day.<p>

Carrie looked up at her house, the dust was piled on the porch, she usually swept it each day, it would have spent the last week working its way under the frame and into the house… She thought about the years in that house, her childhood, her adolescence, her young teaching days, teaching alongside her parents, marking books with them over the dinner table quietly, sensibly, eating dull and uninspiring meals, but being content knowing her days at school would be full of the lively chatter and enthusiasm of children. She thought about her parents' retirement and the two years they had had before her father had died, she'd looked after them, tried her best to look after her mom. She'd driven her mom to Greeley, to see her sister, to visit and then she hadn't come back, and since then Carrie had been on her own, three years now, on her own in the old house.

Her life came jumbled and in flashes in the seconds that she looked out of the truck window, but she knew in an instant that she did not want to be left in there on her own. She looked up at Donald and her eyes must have spoken for her, or maybe it was the tense breathing, the slight rattle in her throat that had come on from her day of exhausting emotion. Donald started the engine again. "We'll come back tomorrow," he offered, "the farm will be warm," he simplified and said what she wanted to hear, it was a summer evening, everywhere was warm, but the farm didn't hold a hundred memories of her dead family, she nodded and he pulled away.

* * *

><p>Tom was in the kitchen when they arrived, he stood and looked at them both as they entered, Carrie looking smaller, older than she usually did and his grandfather carrying her bags. "Carrie's going to stay the night," Donald told him simply and Tom nodded.<p>

"Of course," he said quietly, their guest looked up at him with an anxious face, not one he'd seen before, he moved to her, "can- do you need anything? Are you hungry?" he offered, she smiled a crumpled smile of relief and shook her head, "just say, if you do," he told her quietly and she nodded this time. "I'm real sorry," he said gently and he touched her arm, "for your loss, Carrie."

Carrie looked up at him in touched surprise and she touched his arm too, "thank you, Tom," she managed quietly.

"Tom, take these bags upstairs, would you?" Donald asked him as he closed the doors "I'm going to make some tea, do you want one?" he asked his grandson.

Tom shook his head as he stood with the bags at the foot of the stair, "No thanks, I- I'm actually just going over to Lois's," he told them, "it's Bobby's birthday." Donald looked at the table and noticed the gift, wrapped in brown paper that his grandson had painted with red spots.

"What did you get him?" Carrie asked and Tom smiled,

"I made him something, I mean, well- here," Tom said and he put the bags back down and walked to the table, "it's his name, for his bedroom door, or- or just to display, I don't know, I guess it's an ornament," he explained, the parcel was tied with string and he unwrapped it despite their protestations that it looked so good, he took out his carving and set it down on the table.

"Tom," Carrie looked at it in awe, "it's beautiful," she said in surprise.

"Thanks," he smiled, "well, I always liked craft lessons, didn't I?"

The carved name was beautifully made, each perfectly carved letter had been stained with dye or paint a subtle, natural colour and the wood was polished cleaner than anything Carrie could ever remember seeing.

"When did you learn to do this sort of thing?" she asked him and she looked up at Donald, "did you know he could do this?" Donald shook his head.

"I guess I taught myself," he shrugged, "there's a lot of waiting, being a farmer. Between checking on everything I mean, I usually have something on me, bits of scrap wood. This is the first time I really tried though."

"It looks great, Tom," Donald rubbed the boy's shoulder, "it's a really personal thing," he laughed a little, looking down at the carved name, "you know what I mean. It's special. Really thoughtful."

Tom wrapped it back up carefully and then moved back to the bags, "I'm glad you think it's good," he said quietly, "but if you want one doing, it'll cost you," he grinned and Donald laughed as his grandson took the bags upstairs.

"He's so like my brother Michael," Donald said quietly and he smiled and shook his head, he looked proudly at the wrapped parcel, "that's just the kind of thing he'd do. Except Tom's is better of course!"

"He's really serious about the Dixons," Carrie said quietly, "I hope they appreciate him."

Donald looked down at her, he smiled gratefully as he put the kettle on the stove. "Me too," he agreed. Tom returned and picked up his parcel, he said goodbye to his grandfather and he moved to Carrie, bent and hugged her a little, kissed her cheek in what he hoped would be a comforting fashion.

"Maybe see you tomorrow morning," he said, "It's summer, I start early," he smiled, "you just rest and let us look after you," he told her.

"Tell Bobby, Happy Birthday from his teacher and there's only nine weeks left to do his homework," she said quietly.

"I will," he promised and he left.

Donald made two cups of tea and put them down on the table, "I'm not going to lie, it feels like the middle of the night- and he's off to a kid's party!" Carrie smiled tiredly herself and walked to the table, she smelled the tea and looked down at it curiously. "It's peppermint," he told her, "it's good for settling stomachs and minds," he said quietly, "We'll drink these, then go to bed. There's nothing shameful about going to bed at eight pm on a summer's eve," he smiled a little, "fuck it," he said quietly as he looked at the tired and drawn face across the table, "let's take them upstairs, I am exhausted."

Carrie smiled gratefully and he went to the wall by the door and turned the lights off. They walked upstairs, Donald led the way carrying both teas but he paused in the hallway at the top of the stairs. He looked at her in the dim light, he raised an eyebrow and looked down at her, "should we take bets on where Tom has put your bags?" he said quietly and Carrie looked up and down the hall, they were not outside any of the doors so they must have been inside a room, but which? "Spare room?" Donald guessed but Carrie shook her head.

"Murph's room," she guessed, "Tom wouldn't want me in with all his old stuff."

They walked to Murph's door and she opened it, there was no sign of her things, only Murph's things, as they always had been and always would be. They closed the door on it and walked instead to Tom's old room, the spare room as it had become. Carrie switched the light on, there was nothing in there either even though all of Tom's things seemed to have been tidied away and it was relatively clear, she looked up at Donald in surprise and her already pale face seemed to whiten further as she felt a lump in her throat. They walked to Donald's bedroom at the end of the hall and sure enough Carrie's bags were by the dresser. "Donald," Carrie said his name in a rather stressful tone, "What- what does Tom think- I, I mean," she stumbled over words and he put the teas town on the bedside table and switched the lamp on.

"Honey," he said gently and he touched her arms, she began to tear up, "don't, don't get upset," he whispered gently and he picked up a clean handkerchief from his dresser and gave it to her, she held it tightly, he smiled softly at her and even laughed a little, "don't get upset," he smiled, "you're so exhausted, Carrie."

"He- I don't want to- to disturb your- your family," she whispered and she held the hanky to her face.

She was so tired, so wracked with emotions that she was getting upset when there was nothing to be upset about. "Honey, Tom's twenty," he said gently, "he's not a kid. He likes you being here, you know that," he said quietly.

Carrie looked down at her bags on the floor and felt confused and tired, she wiped her eyes with the handkerchief, "Does- does he think we- we're like _a couple_?" she spoke to the bags on the floor despite Donald standing close to her with his arms around her.

"A couple of weirdoes," Donald said gently and she looked up at him in concern but he smiled and she laughed a little through her tears. "I've spoken to him," he admitted, "we talked about it last week."

"About us?" she whispered. Donald nodded.

"He asked," he said gently, "I told him I didn't know how to label it. That you don't want a boyfriend, just a _good _friend."

Carrie felt her heart beat hard in her chest as she listened to him and looked up at him, "but- the bags," she started quietly and Donald looked down at the bags and raised his eyebrows.

"He's not dumb," Donald admitted, "he can see we're close." He looked at her and shook his head, "_he_ put the bags in here, _we_ didn't... So really," he tried, "what we can take from this is that whatever we want to do, Carrie, no one will be offended, no one will be surprised and no one will care."

She looked at him and felt calmer, she knew he was right, she nodded. "I- all my clothes are dirty," she told him, "do you have a T-shirt I could borrow?"

"of course," he said gently and he let go of her and walked to the chest of drawers beneath his bookcase and found her something to wear.


End file.
